


Chiaroscuro Episode 5:  Absolute Zero

by ThatSameSong



Series: Chiaroscuro (Life is Strange AU) [5]
Category: Life Is Strange (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Bisexual Character, Disturbing Themes, F/F, Friends to Lovers, Gen, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Kidnapping, Lesbian Character, Male-Female Friendship, Psychopathology & Sociopathy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-15
Updated: 2020-04-15
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:42:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 24,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23671756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatSameSong/pseuds/ThatSameSong
Summary: With the storm raging around them, Chloe and Max make several desperate decisions to keep themselves sane and safe.  As a finale to this week's chaos looms in front of her, Chloe confronts her worst fears in the form of one final choice.
Relationships: Maxine "Max" Caulfield/Chloe Price
Series: Chiaroscuro (Life is Strange AU) [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1668319
Comments: 1
Kudos: 16





	1. The Bunker

Chloe woke up to a pounding headache.

She groaned and squirmed—or tried to squirm—in her chair. Chloe felt like she’d partied way too hard at the Vortex Club bash. _If only._ Chloe would have killed for some beer and shitty dance music right about then. Anything was better than this crap.

Initial analysis? She was screwed. Chloe was strapped to a chair in the bunker, her head was fuzzy, and she had no idea how she was going to get out of this. Bad start. _Crap._ Why did she think any of that was a good idea? Why was she so _stupid?_

Chloe struggled, trying to get her leg loose. The good news was that she could think. Well, kind of. The memories were loading a snail’s pace, but at least her head was clearing up. She remembered how she got there. She remembered that motherfucker Jefferson and his dumb face. And the moon. The double moon in the sky.

Chloe wriggled. No, she couldn’t think about that. She couldn’t think about moons or butterflies or even Mark Jefferson.

“Max?” Chloe shouted.

She gritted her teeth. _Shit._ If that asshole had done anything to Max, if he’d laid a single hand on her… No mercy. Chloe was going to break both of his arms with her bare hands. And she was going to love every second of it. That sick fuck had it coming. For Rachel, for Max, and for every other girl that freak had kidnapped for his creepy photo fetish.

She heard a long drawn out groan. Chloe followed the sound, dropping her eyes to the floor. Her heart almost stopped when she saw where the noise was coming from.

Max was lying on the floor of the little photo studio, her hands bound with duct tape. She was alive, but she was way more out of it than Chloe. Her eyes were half-closed and she looked like she barely knew where she was. Max just kept groaning, her cheek pressed against the cold floor and her skin pale in the overly bright lights.

Chloe swallowed. _Fuck._ She really thought Max might have gotten away. Super unlikely, but the thought had given her the slightest bit of hope. At least they were in hell together, right? That had to count for something at this point.

She laughed weakly to herself. _Yeah, Price. Count it as another one of your screw-ups._

Why even try to deny it? This was totally Chloe’s fault. She dragged Max into this. _Forced_ her into it. And now they were both probably going to die because of Chloe’s reckless stupidity. Chloe was starting to believe she was better off in that alternate reality. Sure, Max had been miserable, but at least she didn’t have to deal with any of Chloe’s bullshit. Other Max had no idea how lucky she was to not have a Chloe ruining her life.

Chloe strained against the duct tape. She managed to get a single leg loose. Better than nothing, but it wasn’t like she could do a lot with one leg. And Chloe’s rewind didn’t have enough juice to save her from Jeffershit.

She scanned the entire room. There had to be something she could use. A gun? A knife? A bazooka? Anything that wasn’t a fancy tripod and a camera that cost more than Chloe’s house. Chloe always thought she’d know what to do in a scenario like this. But didn’t everyone? Everyone was a badass until they actually had to _be_ a badass. Even with her power, Chloe realized she was just as helpless as anyone else. Strapped to that chair, barely able to move, she was no different than any of the other girls Jeffershit had kidnapped.

She spotted her stuff on a little rolling table. Jefferson must have emptied Chloe’s pockets and her bag. The thought of that sick fuck touching her things made Chloe physically ill.

Her phone was on the table. Too far away for her to reach. It was like Jefferson put it there just to taunt her, to remind her that she was completely helpless. He’d also taken out her graffiti journal for some reason. Also too far away and not really helpful. Chloe wanted to scream.

“Max,” said Chloe. “I—I know you’re—I know this sucks. But do you think you can get my—my phone? It’s on the table over there.”

Her stomach twisted in disgust, but Chloe didn’t have a choice. Max was closer _and_ she wasn’t duct-taped to a chair.

Max slightly lifted her head. Chloe wasn’t sure if Max heard or understood anything she said. Whatever Jefferson had dosed them with, he’d definitely given Max some extra while Chloe was knocked out. Just enough to keep Max out of it.

Chloe looked at the camera. Had that fucker been taking _pictures_ while Chloe was unconscious? Pictures of Max? Was that why he bothered drugging both of them instead of killing them outright? He could have just murdered them in that junkyard. Chloe had to reiterate that to herself every few seconds. She wasn’t letting herself off the hook.

Max squirmed in the vague direction of the table. Every movement was an effort. Max’s limbs—heavier than logs—seemed to be fighting against her. How could she feel both light _and_ like she weighed more than a tree?

With one surprisingly swift and strong movement, Max thrust her leg at the table. She kicked out at it, groaning with effort as she pumped every ounce of strength she had into her leg. The table skidded backwards a little. The momentum was enough to make a few things topple off the table and crash to the floor.

Chloe’s stomach flipped when she saw her phone fall off the table. _Fuck._ It was still too far away for her to reach. And Max seemed to have spent all of her energy on that one kick.

“It’s okay,” said Chloe. “We’re—we’re going to get out of here, Mad Max. I promise.”

She flexed her fingers. Fortunately, Chloe’s rewind still worked even though she could barely move her hand. She was able to undo the mess and the noise Max had made.

Chloe groaned and ducked her head, gritting her teeth and clenching her fists. A wave of crushing pain passed through her skull. Chloe felt like someone had slammed a mallet into the back of her head. It was a few seconds before Chloe forced her head up, her breath coming in short gasps and beads of sweat breaking out on her forehead. Chloe didn’t need a mirror to know that her nose was bleeding again.

She could hear the wind picking up outside. The blinding overhead lights flickered. _The storm._ The fucking storm. Chloe had actually forgotten all about the impending apocalypse. It got buried under Rachel Amber’s death and breaking into Jefferson’s office. But now Chloe was remembering how all this crap got started: with her getting a nosebleed in Ms. Holt’s class and seeing a vision of Arcadia Bay getting wrecked by a storm. Well, now Chloe knew she wasn’t losing it. The storm was real and it was about to wreak havoc. And Chloe was trapped in a stupid bunker while the world was ending.

Chloe really should have seen the signs. Her vision, the eco-havoc, the butterfly. There was no science in this. There had never been anything she could put in a test tube or quantify with an equation. Everything she’d experienced up to this point was purely supernatural. And Chloe never had any control over it.

Chloe fought against her restraints again. She screamed for help, even though she knew no one was coming. That was the worst part about all of this bullshit: no one was coming to rescue them. Steph and Mikey had zero clue where Chloe was. Maybe if she’d been a better friend, if she’d let them into the investigation and told them the truth. There was so much that Chloe could have done differently. _Crap._ No one was coming for them and it was—once again—all Chloe’s fault.

She was half-wrong about that last part. Someone _did_ come. But it wasn’t the person Chloe wanted to see.

Mark Jefferson walked into the room. He’d taken off his jacket and his sleeves were rolled up. He was wearing leather gloves. Jefferson was smiling, but there was no charm in it. How had Chloe never noticed his eyes before? Or maybe she had, but it was one of those things that anyone could overlook if they focused on that smile. There was nothing in those eyes. Jefferson was just _blank._ Every emotion he was expressing seemed incredibly staged.

“She’s awake,” said Jefferson.

Chloe struggled, her face filled with rage. She thought she might actually start foaming at the mouth like a rabid dog.

“ _She’s_ going to kick your ass, motherfucker,” Chloe said.

Jefferson raised an eyebrow and folded his arms, like he was amused by Chloe’s attempt at acting tough. Joke’s on him: she wasn’t _acting._ Or at least it wasn’t going to be acting as soon as Chloe figured out how to beat the crap out of him.

“There’s the Chloe Price I love,” said Jefferson. “Feisty. Assertive. And painfully unaware of when she’s out of her depth. It would be charming if it wasn’t so pathetic.”

Chloe stopped struggling, but only because she realized it wasn’t going to work.

“You’re the pathetic one,” said Chloe.

Jefferson waved his hand at her dismissively.

“At least I don’t have a hero complex,” said Jefferson. “Tell me, Chloe.”

He bent down in front of her. Chloe tried to lean away from him, but the chair kept her in place. She hated seeing those eyes and that smile up close. Chloe hated knowing that her power was useless here.

“How does it feel to be helpless?” said Jefferson. “You see, you’re lucky. I’ve been thinking of expanding my horizons with a new project. Something bold. And you just so happen to be the perfect subject.”

He straightened up, adjusting his sleeves and smiling.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” Chloe said.

Jefferson chuckled.

“Nothing is wrong with me,” said Jefferson. “But something _is_ wrong with the girl who thinks she knows everything.”

He spread his arms.

“What I’m doing here is _art,”_ said Jefferson. “You and me, we understand art. You express yourself through your graffiti, I look at the world through my camera lens. I cut the world open so I can peer deeper inside. I explore the intersection where fear meets weakness. It’s the purest form of expression.”

Chloe flinched. _Ugh._ She didn’t like how his voice _shivered_ when he said that, like he was getting some kind of pleasure out of it. The mask had completely slipped off.

“So that’s what this is?” said Chloe. “Cutting the world open? Oooooh, you’re so _art._ Give me a fucking break.”

Jefferson laughed.

“Oh, I see,” he said. “So _you’re_ an art expert? Just because you smoke weed and draw on walls doesn’t make you a critic, Chloe.”

He shook his head, his voice rising in annoyance. It was the first time Chloe had actually heard Jefferson raise his voice at anyone. He always acted like such a chill guy. But now he was almost yelling. And Chloe hated admitting it, but it scared the hell out of her.

“See, this is what I hate about you faux art sluts,” said Jefferson. “You think you’re so smart. But you can never see the larger picture. It’s all about your selfies and your teen rebellion.”

Chloe was struggling against her restraints again. She was trying to take advantage of Jefferson being distracted. If she could just get one hand free, just _one hand…_

Jefferson sprang forward and grabbed her by the hair. He jerked her head back painfully, his fingers digging into Chloe’s scalp as she cried out in surprise. She tried to twist herself out of his grip, shouting curses at him. But Jefferson just held her tightly, pulling her head back until Chloe thought her neck was going to snap like a twig.

“Are you even _listening to me,_ you dumb cunt?” said Jefferson. “This is exactly what I was talking about! You never pay attention in class, yet you think you deserve everything. You’re no better than anyone else.”

He released her and took a few steps back, side-stepping around Max’s barely-conscious body. Jefferson brushed off his hands, like he’d just touched something disgusting.

“I’m sorry,” Jefferson said. “That was out of line. But its been a stressful day for all of us, hasn’t it? We’ve both done and said things we regret.”

Chloe’s head was drooping forward and she was breathing heavily. She could still feel Jefferson’s fingers in her hair, even though he was now standing two feet away. Chloe had known Jefferson was unhinged, but this? This was a brand new level of psycho. This couldn’t be the same guy who strutted around campus in his stupid hipster glasses.

“What—what did you do to Nathan?” Chloe managed.

Jefferson grinned at her.

“Nathan,” said Jefferson. “Now that’s the real tragedy. So much potential. Too bad he squandered it. He thought he could be me.”

He sighed, like he was genuinely upset.

“But instead he gave Rachel Amber an overdose,” said Jefferson. “Trying to emulate his mentor. It’s such a shame. But Nathan _was_ a very troubled young man. It should come as no surprise to anyone that he took his own life after killing two innocent young girls.”

Chloe’s blood froze. She felt like she’d swallowed a mouthful of stones. So Jefferson had been manipulating Nathan the whole time. But was that really surprising? Jefferson had been manipulating everyone at Blackwell. Including Chloe.

“You can’t blame this on Nathan,” Chloe said.

But she knew that was bullshit. Everyone already knew Nathan had problems. And how many times had Chloe—and so many other people at Blackwell—accused Nathan of being a murderous psycho? No one was going to believe that Mark Jefferson—the chill photographer with a spotless record—was responsible for so much messed up shit.

Jefferson approached Chloe and grabbed her face, forcing her to look at him. Chloe hated how he touched her so casually, without the slightest bit of restraint. Was this how Jefferson was used to treating people? Like props?

“Your nose is bleeding,” Jefferson said. “Must have given you too high a dose. Well, it doesn’t matter. A nosebleed is the least of your problems.”

He let go of her and stepped back.

“Oh, and I should probably take care of Max,” said Jefferson. “Loose ends.”

Chloe struggled in her seat, clenching her teeth as she tried to yank her arms out of the restraints. She cried out in rage, swearing and promising to throttle Jefferson with her bare hands. But Chloe’s threats were hollow. She knew he didn’t believe he was the vulnerable one. And for the moment, he wasn’t. Chloe was helpless.

She stopped struggling for a minute. Chloe frowned. _She_ was helpless. Duct-taped to a chair and unable to do anything. But Max wasn’t.

Jefferson was grabbing the small bottle and a syringe from the table. He stuck the syringe into the bottle and pushed up the plunger, siphoning up some of the liquid. Chloe didn’t need her extensive chemistry knowledge to know what he was doing. The problem with fatal dosages was that they were so easy to give by accident. Someone trying to do this on purpose definitely knew their stuff.

Chloe leaned forward in her chair.

“Wait!” she said.

Jefferson lifted his head and looked at her, the bottle and syringe still in his hands. He didn’t say anything. He was probably waiting for her to start pleading for Max’s life. And Chloe desperately wanted to do that.

Chloe glanced at Max’s barely-conscious body. She wanted to be selfish, but what had being selfish gotten her? A few useless Chloe points? No, this was something she had to do for both of them. Best friends stick together, right? Best friends don’t let best friends die in creepy bunkers.

She clenched her fists. Chloe could feel the drying blood on her upper lip. _Fuck._ This might kill her. But it also might not and that was a risk Chloe had gotten used to taking.

“M-My journal,” Chloe said. “You’ve got it, right? Can I see it? Before—before you kill us?”

Jefferson smiled at her. He was trying to look like he was sympathetic, but Chloe was done falling for his bullshit. She’d seen the real Jefferson and she knew sympathy wasn’t really in his range.

“Like I said, you’re not an artist,” said Jefferson.

He put down the syringe and bottle. He grabbed the graffiti journal from the table and flipped it open. Jefferson walked over to Chloe, grinning as he turned the pages and looked at her work. Chloe felt weirdly insulted. Of course that prick wouldn’t understand _real_ art if it bit him in the dick.

“Butterflies, owls, deer,” said Jefferson. “Is that what you think art is? Teenage angst?”

He tossed the journal on the floor in front of her. It was open to the very last page. The last bit of graffiti Chloe had put in there.

“You’re lucky Blackwell isn’t just for artists,” Jefferson said. “But I doubt you’ll be remembered as anything other than the girl who drew on walls.”

Chloe flexed her fingers. It was now or never.

“Does Ms. Holt know you’re a skeevy bastard?” said Chloe.

Jefferson was already walking back to the table, his back to Chloe. He paused and chuckled at Chloe’s question.

“ _Ashley_ knows what she needs to know,” Jefferson said. “She knows I’m a photographer. She knows about my early work. She knows I’m the best boyfriend she could ask for and that I will make an excellent husband.”

He turned and winked at Chloe, like they were two old friends sharing a secret.

“And to answer that burning question,” said Jefferson. “Yes. She does give amazing head. Not as good as Rachel Amber though.”

Chloe recoiled in disgust. _Jesus Christ._

Mr. Jefferson laughed at Chloe’s discomfort.

“Don’t be jealous,” he said. “The three of you—you, Max, and Rachel—will be fucking in Heaven soon enough.”

He turned back to what he was doing.

A tiny bit of tension left Chloe’s body. So Ms. Holt had no idea what her precious boyfriend was doing. The fact that Ms. Holt wasn’t in on it should have made Chloe feel way better, but all she could think about was how Ms. Holt would freak when she found out. How could someone so smart be so wrong about a person?

Chloe leaned over and tried to focus on the graffiti. She tore her eyes away from what Jefferson was doing and forced herself not to panic. If this worked, anything that happened in the next few minutes was getting erased. Chloe knew she promised to never do this again after the last time, but Max was worth it. And it wasn’t like she was making another huge leap that was going to totally fuck up the timeline. The ripples were smaller.

Chloe swallowed. She hated having to leave her best friend in this crappy reality. But she was also leaving herself. Max wasn’t going to be alone when she took her long nap. Chloe wasn’t leaving her again. Or at least it didn’t _feel_ like leaving.

She could feel time pulling on her again. Chloe tried to cry out in pain, but she clamped her jaw shut and focused. She felt like her head was getting bashed by a meat hammer. Chloe focused harder, falling deeper into the graffiti. Her body and her mind were being pulled in four or five directions, but she held on to the one she needed and let it take her away.

Chloe was kneeling next to Jefferson’s desk, her marker extended as she finished up her graffiti. Her hand jerked back reflexively. Chloe blinked the stars out of her eyes and refocused herself on the present. She wasn’t used to actually being able to move.

Max grabbed Chloe’s shoulder and shook her.

“Are you okay?” Max said.

Chloe straightened up so quickly that she almost fell over. She looked around, her hands shaking. She was out. _She was ou_ _t. Holy fuck._ She actually made it.

Chloe looked at her shaking hands. Surprisingly, that leap hadn’t killed her or left her stuck between timelines. There was probably a Chloe out there trapped in the void, but she wasn’t _that_ Chloe. And she was sure that every alternate version of herself living through a bad end would appreciate what she was about to do.

She gave Max a huge bear hug. More than anything else, seeing Max okay almost broke Chloe. She felt like she’d seen Max die or almost die a dozen times. It never got easier. How many times had Chloe saved Max’s ass? How many alternate Chloes had totally failed at saving Max’s ass? How many versions of Chloe were hopping from timeline to timeline and hitting dead ends?

Chloe let go of Max and kissed her. They hadn’t done that in a long time. Chloe blamed the chaos, but in reality she’d just been, well, terrified. Terrified of what was happening to them. Terrified of the storm raging in her own head whenever she thought that far into the future. But now she _could_ think ahead. She could think about burning Blackwell to the ground, about kicking Mark Jefferson’s ass, and about a future that wasn’t unbelievably messed up. This was a gift Chloe was giving to herself and she sure as hell wasn’t going to waste it.

Max pulled away, a confused look on her face.

“Chloe, what the fuck?” said Max.

Chloe grabbed Max’s shoulders. She felt super guilty about locking lips with Max so soon after they found Rachel Amber’s body, but _fuck it._ This might be Chloe’s last chance. And Max didn’t seem to mind the lip action, so she gave herself a pass for being insensitive.

“Max, I’m sorry,” Chloe said. “But you have to—you have to _leave.”_

She turned Max around and guided her towards the door, her hands clamped on Max’s shoulders. Chloe barely had time to think about any of this. She was just going with the flow. Making it up as she went along. So just another normal day in Chloe’s messed up life.

“What?” Max said. “No fucking way!”

But Chloe was shaking her head.

“Go home,” Chloe said. “Talk to David. Tell him he needs—he needs _everything._ Tell him about the bunker and show him everything we found.”

Chloe bit her lip. This was her one chance. The universe was throwing her a bone and she was going to grab it with her teeth.

They were standing in front of the classroom door. Chloe slipped her hands off Max’s shoulders and reached into her pocket. Chloe pulled out her phone and shoved it into Max’s hands.

“Call everyone,” Chloe said. “Tell them—tell them a storm is coming and they need to leave.”

How many people were going to actually buy Max’s warning? Probably not enough. Not while almost everyone was wasted and partying. But _maybe_ some of them would actually listen because they trusted Chloe and they knew she wouldn’t bullshit about something like this. Or maybe none of them would listen and this was a waste of Chloe’s time. But at least one person on her contact list had to listen, right? Mikey or Steph or anyone else who’d noticed something batshit insane was going on in Arcadia Bay.

Max looked at Chloe’s phone, her heart pounding in her ears.

“What are you going to do?” said Max.

She sounded scared, like she expected the worst.

Chloe had to be honest with herself: she also expected the worst. This wasn’t a plan. This was a desperate attempt at plugging holes before the whole boat flooded and they sank to the bottom of the ocean. Chloe was perfectly fine sinking to the bottom if it meant someone else might get their head above water. She just couldn’t say that out loud. Not in front of Max.

“I’ll be okay,” Chloe said.

She took Max’s hand and squeezed it reassuringly. Maybe Chloe wouldn’t survive this, but at least Max was going to be okay. That was all Chloe had ever wanted since the very beginning: for Max to get out alive. It was really hard to be scared when she thought about Max being happy.

But not just Max. This was Chloe’s chance—probably the only one the universe was giving her—to save all of her friends. To prove to herself and everyone who cared about her that she could make a tough decision. If this really was fate, Chloe was ready to accept it.

Chloe let go, but not of Max’s hand. She let go of her place in the time stream, letting herself get swept up as the timeline readjusted itself. She saw the events happening in fast motion.

Chloe met Jefferson in his office. She lied to him about why she was there. She took him to the junkyard. He drugged her. Going through it again was horrific, even if it felt like she was watching from outside her own body. Watching herself get drugged and dragged off by that asshole Jefferson. At least Max wasn’t there.

She opened her eyes. Chloe instinctively tried to move again. She tried to stand up. But she was duct-taped to a chair in the bunker.

Chloe huffed out a few shaky breaths. Still trapped with Jeffershit. Not that Chloe had expected herself to be anywhere else. But she almost got high off that brief taste of freedom. Chloe nearly forgot what it was like to not be tied to a chair in a creepy bunker.

She could hear the storm going crazy outside. Chloe could only hope that she’d plugged enough holes.

Jefferson was standing by the table, the syringe and bottle in his hands. He was sticking the syringe into the bottle. But no Max curled up on the floor this time. It was just him and Chloe in that cozy little nightmare room.

Chloe’s heart was thumping out of her chest. So Jefferson was going to kill her. She’d almost convinced herself that she was okay with that part if Max got away. But she needed to stop lying to herself for one fucking minute. No, she was _not_ okay with dying in the Prescott murder bunker. Chloe wasn’t okay with playing the hero if it meant Max had to lose another person she cared about. And she wasn’t okay with Jefferson just taking her out like that. But the graffiti thing had been Chloe’s last shot, her final attempt at making things at least a little more right.

Her graffiti journal was all the way on the table a few feet away. That had really been Chloe’s last chance. This was it. Whatever happened next, there was no getting out of it.

Chloe tried to remember the last text she sent her folks. _Crap._ She’d been avoiding their messages for way too long. They must have been pissed off and worried, thinking something had happened to their precious kid. Well, they were right. Chloe should have never come back to Arcadia Bay. But maybe she never had a choice? If it was destiny or fate or whatever, it had all been leading up to this exact moment in time.

She tried to lean away as Jefferson came closer, tried to squirm out of her restraints. There were tears in her eyes. Not angry tears, but actual tears of fear and stress. _I’m sorry, Max. I’m such a shit friend._

Jefferson grabbed the side of her head to hold her still. Chloe felt the syringe press against her neck. Not hard enough to penetrate the skin. It was like he was making sure she knew it was there. Teasing her like this was some stupid game. Chloe gritted her teeth and silently ordered Jefferson to just kill her already.

Jefferson and Chloe both jumped when they heard the door of the bunker open.

Jefferson backed away from Chloe, the syringe still in his hand and a puzzled look on his face. Before the uninvited guest could show themselves, Jefferson dropped the syringe and grabbed the fancy tripod. He brandished it like a baseball bat, holding it with two hands as he headed over to the hallway entrance and waited.

David Madsen appeared in the doorway. He had a gun in his hands and he was wearing a bulletproof vest.

Jefferson grunted and swung the tripod. David never saw what hit him. He might have gotten a brief glimpse of Jefferson’s face before the tripod smashed into him. But before he could register the mistake he’d made, David was on his knees reeling from the blow. Another hit to the back of the skull was enough to knock him out, the gun falling from his hands and hitting the floor.

Chloe slumped in her seat. _Fuck._ The one time she actually counted on David. The one time she trusted him.

Jefferson tossed the tripod aside and laughed.

“David Madsen,” said Jefferson. “I should have known.”

Chloe heard footsteps in the hallway. Rapid footsteps. Someone else was coming. For one wonderful moment, Chloe thought David actually had back-up. Hopefully a SWAT team or one of his security buddies with an arsenal. _Anything._

Max appeared in the doorway. She looked pretty much the same as she had the last time Chloe saw her, except she had a dark leather raincoat over her clothes.

“David!” Max shouted.

She ran into the room and dropped down beside David’s unmoving body.

From where she was sitting, Chloe couldn’t tell if David was dead or not. He couldn’t have been, right? There was no way Mark fucking Jefferson killed the one-man army with his stupid tripod. Not _David. Crap._ How many people had Jefferson killed so far? How many more people were going to die if Chloe didn’t fix this?

Max didn’t even seem to see Mark Jefferson. And by the time Chloe opened her mouth to warn Max, it was too late. Jefferson had already picked up the tripod again and he was swinging it at Max’s head. An instant later—time seemed to slow in Chloe’s head—Max was slumped over David’s body.

Chloe cried out in frustration. Why was Max even there? Had she followed David? There was no way David had just let Max tag along. Chloe had to give Max credit for having balls of steel. But she also had to deduct points for Max being a total fucking idiot. Max was acting like, well, _Chloe._ Maybe Chloe was a worse influence than she thought.

Jefferson looked at his handiwork, a faint smile on his face and the tripod still in his hands.

“Two birds with one stone, as the kids like to say,” he said. “What a shame.”

Chloe used her rewind. There was no reason to let that scene play out any longer than it needed to. She knew what to do now. Or at least she was reckless enough to think she knew what to do, which was basically the same thing. No one was dying this time.

She watched Jefferson as he waited by the entrance. Chloe could hear David’s footsteps. She didn’t know if David was trying to be stealthy, but he was doing a shitty job.

“David, watch out!” Chloe said.

It was all she could do from where she was sitting.

Jefferson glanced at Chloe, his face twisted in confusion and anger.

This time Jefferson was the one who was caught off guard. He hadn’t been anticipating how good David was at kicking ass when he had a heads-up. Jefferson tried to swing the tripod, but David dodged out of the way and knocked it out of his hands.

David backed Jefferson into the wall and pointed the gun at him. It was weird to see David’s aggression pointed at someone who wasn’t a helpless Blackwell student.

“You’re under arrest,” David said.

He locked eyes with Chloe for a second. Chloe wanted to make a sarcastic comment about how David didn’t actually have the authority to arrest anyone. But they both had the same thought in their heads. Chloe couldn’t believe _David fucking Madsen_ had just saved her ass. It was one of those things he was probably going to talk about until the end of time. Chloe suddenly felt very crappy about all the stuff she said about him, all the shitty comments she made to his face. She still thought he was a complete tool with a dumb mustache, but that stupid pornstache had saved her life and Chloe just had to live with that.

Max sprinted into the room. Chloe was so happy to see Max alive that she nearly burst into tears.

“Chloe,” Max said.

She darted past David and rushed to free Chloe from the chair.

Jefferson had his hands up. He was trying to do his charming smile, but David wasn’t falling for any of Jefferson’s bullshit. It was like looking into the face of the devil. Chloe had never liked those stupid glasses or that beard. Jefferson was like a caricature. But that was all part of the act. Everything about Jefferson was a stage performance. Even the way he dressed was just a costume he plucked from the rack every morning.

“Think about what you’re doing, David,” said Jefferson.

David laughed bitterly.

“Oh, I have,” he said.

With one swift movement—Chloe could tell David had been waiting to do that—he slammed into Jefferson’s head. One well-placed blow was all it took for Jefferson to crumple. One second Jefferson was smiling, the next second he was on the ground. Chloe was glad she got to see the whole thing. She would have rewound to watch it again if she hadn’t been kind of dazed.

_Jesus._ How long had Jefferson been putting on this act? Since he first made it big? Was anything about Mark Jefferson real? At least Chloe knew the answer to that last question. The bunker was real. Those poor girls were real. This was all Mark Jefferson Unmasked.

David grabbed some duct tape and started looping it around Jefferson’s wrists. Tying up the bastard so he couldn’t get away.

“Are you alright?” Max said.

She’d finished removing the duct tape around Chloe’s wrists and ankles. Her eyes were filled with worry.

Chloe rubbed her sore wrist. That was an unexpectedly loaded question. She should have been alright. It was over, or at least Mr. Jefferson’s reign of terror had finally come to an abrupt end. But this wasn’t the end. Not even close.

“No, Max,” Chloe said. “That was really fucking scary.”

Max wrapped Chloe in a hug. It wasn’t the instant fix Chloe wanted, but it was better than nothing.

David glanced in their direction, his face totally unreadable. Chloe had the urge to flip him off just so she could feel normal again. If she ever went back to Blackwell, this was going to be super awkward. _If_ she went back to Blackwell. _If_ Blackwell was still standing in the next twenty-four hours.

Under the harsh light, David didn’t look gruff or scary. He looked tired and miserable. Chloe had to remind herself that David had been investigating this shit for way longer than her or Max. He’d been knee-deep in it before Max almost got shot in the bathroom. Chloe was starting to realize why the guy was such a paranoid freak.

Max withdrew from the hug. She had to be the one to do it. If she’d left it up to Chloe, Chloe would have clung to her for the next two days.

“We have to go,” Max said.

She locked her hand around Chloe’s wrist.

Chloe raised an eyebrow.

“Go _where?”_ Chloe said. “It’s insane out there.”

The bunker was literally the safest place for them. They could wait out the storm together. Wait out the storm with _David,_ which sounded like a recipe for supreme awkwardness. Chloe had a lot of stuff she wanted to talk to him about. Mostly she wanted to say she was sorry for being such a prick. Well, _kind of_ sorry. David totally deserved it. But he did just save Chloe’s life, so maybe they were even?

Max opened her bag and pulled out an extra raincoat. She tossed it at Chloe.

“Nathan,” Max said.

Chloe opened her mouth, but for once she had nothing to say. She just nodded silently, slipping her wrist out of Max’s grip. Chloe fumbled with the raincoat—it wasn’t exactly the best fit—until she got it over her head. She had to pull the hood up so it looked slightly less ridiculous on her.

While Chloe and Max were talking, David had parked himself behind the computer desk. He was muttering to himself and making little noises of disgust. Apparently Jeffershit had been touching up some photos from one of his sessions and he left the computer unlocked. Good for them, bad for Jefferson. Chloe didn’t even want to see what was making David Madsen so upset. It couldn’t have been worse than what was in those binders.

Chloe thought they were going to slip past while David was distracted, but Max actually grabbed his attention.

“We’re going,” Max said. “We—we have to talk to our friends.”

Chloe tensed. She braced herself for an onslaught of _“No freaking way”_ and _“You’re staying right here, young lady”._ There was no way David Madsen was letting his teenage step-daughter go out into a storm.

David looked at them for a full minute, his eyes traveling from Chloe to Max. His gaze lingered on Max’s hand clamped around Chloe’s wrist. He must have been thinking the same thing going through Chloe’s head: if he wanted Max to stay, he would have to physically prevent her. It was two against one and David was emotionally worn out from what happened with Jefferson. Someone had to stay and make sure Jeffershit didn’t run away, right? Not that there was anywhere for him to go.

Chloe officially felt like shit for everything she put David through. She’d basically spent the last few days putting David’s step-daughter in danger. Max had died or almost died dozens of times right in front of Chloe’s face. David wasn’t even supposed to know about any of that, but Max had probably told him. Chloe was surprised that David was letting her within five feet of Max. Had the warden finally gone soft?

“Take care of her, Chloe,” said David.

The fight had finally gone out of him. Something must have happened to him, an epiphany when him and Max talked it out. The realization that Max was an adult and David had no right to tie her down. The realization that—no matter what—Chloe was going to make sure that Max made it out alive. David had seen something in Chloe that he recognized in himself. The reckless desire to protect the people they cared about under any circumstances.

Chloe looked away. Her and David were never going to be buddies. That was just a fact and Chloe could live with it.

* * *

Chloe and Max took Jefferson’s car. It wasn’t like he was using it. And they didn’t have to worry about it getting wrecked. Chloe’s first instinct was to get behind the wheel and drive that bastard’s fancy car right into a tree or fill it with homemade fireworks. Fortunately, Max did all the driving. Chloe got to ignore her dark destructive impulses.

They could barely see through the windshield. Probably not the best time to be driving. But it was better than heading back into town on foot.

“Okay, Mad Max,” Chloe said. “What the fuck is going on?”

Max glanced at Chloe, her hands locked on the steering wheel as she anxiously chewed her lip. She’d almost looked like a badass, but Chloe wasn’t buying it. Max was clearly strung out, scared, and too young to be dealing with any of this crap. The fate of the town and teen angst was a pretty shitty combo.

“I talked to Nathan,” said Max. “I felt—I felt like I had to. So we could end this shit.”

She swallowed.

“I called and told him that we knew about Jefferson,” said Max. “I said we could help him. He didn’t say anything, but I could hear him, like, breathing on the other end. I—I had to hang up.”

Keeping her eyes on the road, Max put her phone on the dashboard.

“I got this message,” Max said. “Before I went into the bunker. It’s from Nathan.”

She played the message. Chloe braced herself for what came next.

“ _I’m sorry,”_ said Nathan. _“I didn’t mean to hurt anyone. Everyone—everyone just_ used _me. My dad and Jefferson and_ everyone. _No one in this whole fucking town gives a shit about me. This is all going to be over soon. At the lighthouse. I have to get to the lighthouse.”_

There was pain in his voice. Heaviness as he choked on his own tears. And when the message ended, it was like someone left a massive hole in the conversation. Chloe wanted to play it again just to get rid of the soul-crushing silence inside the car. But she couldn’t stand hearing Nathan’s voice again. She couldn’t stand hearing him sound so human and vulnerable and so much like a scared little kid who knew he was about to die.

“That was, um, _intense,”_ Chloe said.

She grabbed Max’s phone off the dashboard and shoved it into Max’s bag.

“So we’re going to the lighthouse?” Chloe said.

Max nodded. They were both thinking the same thing, but neither of them were brave enough to say it out loud. “Intense” felt like an understatement. Nathan had sounded completely broken.

Chloe propped up her head on her elbow. She thought about the kind of person Nathan could have been. If he hadn’t been born with a silver spoon in his mouth, if his dad wasn’t such an asshole, if he never went to Blackwell, if his life wasn’t so fucked up. Maybe he would have been exactly the same. But how could Chloe care about him? How could Chloe give a shit about the guy who shot her best friend, the guy who only cared about the awful crap he was doing when it blew up in his face? Human or not, Nathan was a piece of shit.

Chloe sighed. But Nathan _was_ part of this. And maybe being part of this meant there was some good in him, just a sliver of empathy or self-reflection or _anything._ In an alternate reality, in another timeline. _Somewhere._

Chloe pulled out her phone. She wanted to worry about Nathan now. She really did. But there were other people she had to care about. Her friends.

She called Mikey. Chloe had to be sure that him and Steph were okay. After all the crap that just went down in the bunker, she needed some good news. Chloe would have called Steph, but Mikey was about ten times more likely to answer. If Mikey was still alive, he must have been freaking the fuck out over whether or not Chloe was alright. Chloe’s heart swelled at the thought of someone caring about her so much. _Crap._ She really needed to make it up to those two dorks.

Chloe’s stomach twisted into a painful knot. Chloe thought turning eighteen would make her feel like an adult, but instead it was like she’d regressed into a thirteen-year-old all over again. Scared and confused. Flying totally blind. Chloe barely had any friends when she was a kid. Max had and always would be her constant companion. But Steph and Mikey were pretty good substitutes when they had to be. Chloe just never learned to be grateful for what was already on her plate, because she was always hungry for her best friend.

Mikey answered on the second ring. Chloe nearly sobbed with relief when she heard his voice. _Holy crap._ He was alive. He was _alive._ Mikey was _alive._ Chloe could hear the wind howling in the background when he talked, but she didn’t even care about any of that. The only thing that mattered was that Mikey North wasn’t bleeding to death under a pile of rubble.

“Chloe?” Mikey screamed.

Chloe had to hold the phone away from her ear.

“Mikey,” said Chloe. “Holy—Holy _shit._ Are you okay? Is Steph okay? Where the fuck are you?”

Mikey sounded like he was crying his eyes out. Chloe couldn’t blame him, mostly because she was on the verge of doing the exact same thing. It was way too much for one day: the bunker, the storm, Mark Jefferson, David being a total badass. Chloe officially owed David and Max her life and that was such a weird scary concept. But knowing Mikey was okay? This day wasn’t all bad. At least not yet.

“We’re at the—at the Two Whales,” Mikey said. “I—Chloe, what the hell is happening?”

Chloe laughed, a few tears rolling down her cheeks. She swept a hand up her forehead, brushing back her bangs. How did she not have the world’s biggest headache? As soon as this was over— _if_ this was ever over—she was going to use her rewind to sleep forever. It hadn’t really hit her until Mikey asked that question: Chloe was more tired than she ever had been in her entire life. She was sore, her stomach was growling, and she was pretty sure she’d nearly peed herself in fear a dozen times. Not a good combo for Arcadia Bay’s hero. Time Girl needed a nap and probably therapy.

“I’m on my way,” said Chloe.

She dragged her arm across her face, wiping away tears.

“Are you insane?” Mikey said. “It’s nuts out there! What–?”

Chloe interrupted him, raising her voice a little.

“It’s okay,” she said. “I’m—it’s okay. I need to talk to you guys.”

Mikey said something else, but Chloe didn’t catch it. She was already hanging up, the phone clutched in her hand like she was scared it might break if she let go. Like she was scared that her fragile connection to Steph and Mikey might disappear if she put the phone down for one second.

Max reached over and touched Chloe’s arm. It was a simple light touch. Nothing special. But it said so much. _I’m with you, Chloe. I’m here. I always have your back._

They finally rolled into town. Chloe felt like they’d been driving for half a century.

A pit opened in Chloe’s stomach. _Fuck._ It was way worse than she imagined. Whenever she pictured a huge disaster like this in her head, it always went through a Chloe filter. She saw the half-destroyed buildings, the fallen lamp poles, the cars just stopped in the middle of the street. But she never saw the people. She never imagined the people wandering through the debris, people kneeling in front of unmoving bodies, the screaming.

There was nothing _natural_ about this disaster. It was chaos theory. Crazy shit happening because it could. It reminded Chloe of Justin and his stoner conspiracy theories, except real. This was _real._ Horribly terrifyingly real, like Chloe had walked out of that bunker and into her worst nightmare.

They had to stop in front of a crashed lamppost and a massive pile of wreckage. Wherever they went next, it had to be on foot.

Chloe put her hood up and got out of the car. The wind and her hood muffled the shouting, but not enough for her to feel comfortable. She clamped her eyes shut for a minute, overwhelmed by the storm raging around her. Chloe could literally hear the town being torn apart. It was the worst sound she’d ever heard in her entire life. Everyone always said Hell would be hot and on fire. Well, they were wrong. Hell was cold, wet, and the color of soaked newspaper.

One thought kept circling Chloe’s brain: how many people actually listened to Max’s mass text? Did Victoria make it out? Had _anyone_ believed them? Had the hospital been evacuated? Was Samantha safe? How many people were holed up in bomb shelters, waiting for this to blow over and praying that people they cared about survived? At least David was safe. And probably Vanessa.

Max grabbed Chloe’s hand.

“This way,” she said.

She guided Chloe around the debris.

Chloe was looking around frantically, one hand clamped around her hood to keep it in place. She was trying to find a familiar face in the chaos. _Any_ familiar face.

Chloe swallowed hard. She thought she was ready for this. Chloe thought she would be thrilled to see Arcadia Bay burn to the ground around her. This could have been her revenge on everyone in this shitty town. But now that it was happening, all Chloe could feel was the pit in her stomach. The pit and her overwhelming belief that she’d caused all of this by fucking up the timeline.

She spotted Samuel in a thick raincoat and boots. Samuel and a girl Chloe didn’t recognize—a girl with dyed purple hair and a matching raincoat—were trying to shift some heavy debris. Chloe caught a glimpse of an unmoving foot sticking out from under the wreckage. Chloe would have stopped to help, but she couldn’t. She just hoped Samuel stayed alive. Mostly for Samantha’s sake.

A guy Chloe knew from Blackwell—Evan or something—was out taking photos. Chloe screamed at him to get somewhere safe and called him an idiot. Not the best way to save someone’s life, but it seemed to do the trick. Evan scampered off, hopefully in search of a better place to wait out the storm. Chloe didn’t even need her rewind for that one.

Chloe squinted into the howling wind and rain. Chloe had never been amazing with directions, but she had a pretty good idea of where they were going even without Max. She could track the path from where they were standing to the Two Whales. She remembered it from the bus ride.

Chloe swallowed and shut her eyes for a second, letting Max lead her deeper into the chaos. _Fuck._ This really was the end of the world. And they couldn’t even pause long enough for Max to whip out her camera and take a photo. Chloe thought she’d always have Arcadia Bay. It didn’t matter how far she went, Arcadia Bay would always be there if she needed it. _Grow up, Price._

She opened her eyes. Yeah, it _was_ time for her to grow up. Grow up and start holding onto the real constants in her life, the things she could count on. Her friends. Max, Steph, Mikey, Samantha. Her parents. Her big science brain.

Even when Chloe was nostalgic for this place, she wasn’t actually nostalgic for it. She was nostalgic for her time with Max, for her friends, for all the stupid stuff she did when she was a kid.


	2. The Storm

Surprisingly, the Two Whales was still standing. Chloe could see someone in the window. She couldn’t be sure, but it kind of looked like Mikey.

“Uh, should we try the back?” said Max.

Chloe tried to shield her face with her hands. Max was right. Front entrance was totally blocked. And unless Chloe was going to use her time powers to go back five years and get totally jacked, the two of them weren’t getting in that way.

She followed Max around the back of the building. Touching the wet door handle, Chloe realized that she didn’t have to do this. There was nothing stopping her and Max from just going to the lighthouse. Yeah, that meant bailing on Mikey and Steph. _Again._ But did it really matter? Chloe didn’t owe either of them anything. They were just two random people she met after coming back to Arcadia Bay. Two dorks she liked to play tabletop RPGs with.

Chloe grabbed the handle and yanked, shoving the door open. _Fuck it._ The list of people Chloe owed something to was at negative zero by now. But she still busted her ass for her friends because, well, they would have done the same for her.

If Mikey or Steph or Samantha had been shot in that bathroom, Chloe might have hesitated. She wasn’t going to lie to herself about that. But eventually she would have done the same thing for them that she had done for Max. There was no way Chloe would have messed up the timeline this badly for any of them, but she would have at least tried to save them if she had the chance. Chloe was sick of playing favorites, sick of blowing off people who cared about her just because they weren’t Max. Sure, Max was the most awesome person ever. But Steph and Mikey and Samantha were pretty great.

The interior was dark. Someone—Chloe was betting it was level-headed Steph—had put out flashlights and electric candles and anything else they could use for light.

Chloe hugged herself. She was expecting a full house— _hoping_ for a full house—but instead it was Steph, Mikey, and a few other townspeople. Not a lot of happy faces, but it wasn’t like Chloe had expected a party. She just wished everything inside and outside didn’t feel so bleak and depressing.

“Chloe!” said Mikey.

He barely moved from where he was sitting, a huge grin spreading across his face. He didn’t need to move. Chloe spotted him instantly. And the second he was within her line of sight, Chloe was charging at him and wrapping him in the biggest and most bone-crushing hug ever.

Mikey wasn’t wearing his glasses, his hair was a mess, and he had on his older brother’s over-sized letterman jacket. Chloe thought she ran out of tears in the bunker, but she managed to squeeze out a few when Mikey hugged her back.

Steph touched Chloe’s shoulder, her brow furrowed in worry for the first time since Chloe had met her. Steph’s expression did a lot to underline how messed up this whole thing was. Chloe had finally broken Steph’s chill. All it took was a fucking storm.

“You’re okay,” said Steph.

She sounded choked up about it, like she’d been wrestling with the idea that Chloe might be dead.

Chloe wished she knew the feeling a little better. Chloe had thought about Steph and Mikey for less than a minute when she was in the bunker. What was happening to Steph and Mikey took a backseat to everything going down with Jeffershit. In Chloe’s defense, she didn’t really have any spare craps to give when she was freaking out about her own life.

Any guilt Chloe felt was pretty much smothered out of her by the enormous hug she got from Steph. Steph never seemed like the hugging type. But Steph also seemed like the type of person who could keep one hundred percent of her cool during chaos. Chloe had accidentally found Steph’s breaking point and she would have apologized if she could.

Mikey was shaking, swabbing the tears off his face with the back of his hand.

“Chloe, what the fuck is going on?” he said.

Chloe looked at him, her eyebrow quirked.

“I don’t–,” she started.

But Steph interrupted her, raising her voice like she was trying to be heard over the storm.

“ _No,_ Chloe,” said Steph. _“No._ You don’t get to do this. You don’t get to bullshit us.”

Mikey touched Steph’s arm, his mouth slightly open in shock at her outburst. The two of them had clearly been talking. Talking about Chloe. How many times had they done that over the course of this insane week? How much did they know?

Steph brushed Mikey’s hand away. She didn’t look or sound pissed. Just tired.

“Just _please_ tell us what’s going on,” said Steph. “This week has been insane and you’re—you’re a part of it. What’s happening? Why was Nathan Prescott after you?”

Chloe took a deep breath. _Fuck._ This was what she came here for, right? To finally tell Steph and Mikey the truth? Because this might be her last chance. Chloe was actually relieved that Steph brought it up first. Chloe was _not_ ready to open that can of snakes by herself. Not without a hazmat suit and a gallon of booze.

Max grabbed Chloe’s hand and squeezed it reassuringly. Giving Chloe permission to tell the story. The whole thing, even the parts about Max. Before Max squeezed her hand, Chloe didn’t even know which parts she was allowed to mention. But feeling the warmth and certainty of Max’s hand, Chloe realized that she owed Steph and Mikey all the gritty details.

“You know that bizzaro nosebleed I got in Ms. Holt’s class?” said Chloe. “It wasn’t _just_ a nosebleed.”

That’s how she started her story. Her recap of that insane week got more implausible every time she told it. There was always that one detail that slipped through the cracks, something that only came out during the third or fourth time Chloe went through the week’s events. This time, she remembered—and lingered on—the attempted theft of the Tobanga statue by Nathan Prescott. Chloe didn’t understand it when she first read it in his file and she still didn’t get it. She probably never was.

By the time Chloe finished her story, Mikey and Steph had gone through all three stages: shock, disbelief, and finally acceptance. Pretty much the same three stages Chloe went through the first time she discovered her time powers. Except Chloe was still planted firmly between _disbelief_ and _acceptance._ Chloe was never going to _accept_ that she’d broken her perception of reality and basically turned into a comic book hero. At least knowing about alternate realities put more weight on the decisions Chloe made in _this_ reality.

Steph and Mikey stared at Chloe for a few seconds, trying to process all of the impossible things Chloe had told them. Steph was the first to break the awkward silence.

“You’re not bullshitting us,” said Steph. “I can tell.”

Mikey rubbed his temples, staring off into space.

“Wait,” he said. “You—you have time powers? Chloe, holy—holy _shit._ Why didn’t you tell us?”

Chloe chewed her lip. _Why?_ Because she thought they wouldn’t believe her? Because she wanted this to be her and Max’s big secret? Because keeping stuff from Steph and Mikey validated Chloe’s hunch that she was a shitty friend? Yeah, all of those things. Chloe didn’t have one singular reason for being a terrible friend to, well, most people in her life. It was all just a shapeshifting clusterfuck of excuses.

Steph wrapped her arm around Mikey. The sight of them being buddy-buddy made Chloe feel left out. She was always slightly jealous of what the two of them had. They’d clearly been best friends for a long time, maybe even since kindergarten. And they still had each others’ backs, they still talked. Maybe that was one of the reasons Chloe kept blowing them off when they tried to get close to her. She’d wanted what Steph and Mikey had—trust, loyalty, friendship—with Max. But it was never that easy, was it? Not with Chloe.

“And now you’re gonna see a Prescott about a lighthouse?” said Steph. “Sounds safe.”

Chloe shut her eyes. She wished she could ask Steph and Mikey to come with them. But this was something her and Max had to do by themselves. And Chloe really meant it this time. Max and Chloe understood each other. They needed to figure this out together and—sadly–Chloe’s other friends couldn’t be a part of that.

“I’m so _so_ sorry,” said Chloe. “I’ve been an asshole to you guys.”

Steph let out a bitter laugh.

“Yeah, you were,” said Steph. “But that’s why we wanted to hang out with you.”

She shrugged.

“Yeah, you’re kind of a dick,” said Steph. “But that’s still pure unfiltered _you._ No bullshit. No drama.”

Steph glanced from Max to Chloe, a faint smile on her face.

“Plus it’s, uh, nice to have another gay friend,” said Steph. “You know how lonely it gets, right?”

Chloe looped her arm around Max’s shoulder and pulled her close. She grinned at Steph.

“Right now is pretty good,” said Chloe.

If Chloe could have taken that moment and bottled it, she would have. This was probably the last moment of peace Chloe was going to get for a very long time.

* * *

Chloe was shocked that they actually made it to the lighthouse. The further away from the town they got, the more she felt like they were the luckiest people in Arcadia Bay. Sure, they had a few close calls. Some flying wreckage almost took them out and Chloe had to use her rewind more than once. But they got there.

Chloe squinted, holding her hood with both hands as it flapped in the wind. The lighthouse looked only slightly less ominous than it did in her head. They really hadn’t been there since they were kids. Chloe remembered how they used to race up and down the steps. She’d left her mark on this place. If they’d had time, Chloe would have checked out some of her old graffiti.

Max cupped her hands over her mouth and shouted into the howling wind.

“Nathan?” she said.

Chloe looked around. There was no way Nathan could have heard them. It was way too loud outside.

She kept reeling from how wrong she’d been about every single thing. Nathan, Mark Jefferson, David. Chloe thought she could read people. But that had always been Max’s thing. Max was the one who could talk to people, the one who could read minds. Max was the one who had friends. Chloe was just a loser who did graffiti and loved her test tubes more than she loved most people.

Chloe sighed. She really needed to quit it with the self-loathing. It wasn’t cute anymore. _Keep it together, Price._

Chloe grabbed Max’s shoulder. It probably wasn’t the best time for this, but when was she going to get another chance? The world was ending. Seemed like a pretty good opportunity for Chloe’s last confession.

Max turned to look at her. Her face was soaked with rain. Or maybe she was crying. Chloe couldn’t tell. And Chloe was grateful for that, because it would have made this whole thing a hundred times harder for both of them.

“I’m—I’m sorry I didn’t call you,” Chloe said. “I was a dumb kid and your parents didn’t like me and–”

Max started to say something, but Chloe cut her off.

“Dude, it’s okay,” Chloe said. “I know they didn’t—didn’t really want their awesome daughter to be friends with someone like me. I get it. I’m not—I’m not a good person, Mad Max. Never have been. I made you steal my mom’s wine. Remember that? We totally got busted.”

She smiled. One of the greatest capers in Arcadia Bay history. Or at least it would have been if they got away with it. In hindsight, the collective blow-up by both her parents and Max’s was kind of funny. One of the few times the Caulfields and the Prices were on the same page.

“But that’s not an excuse,” Chloe said. “I stopped talking to you because it was easy. I abandoned you because I was selfish. It’s—it’s totally my fault.”

She grinned.

“And despite all of that, you’re not pissed at me,” Chloe said. “You stayed by my side even when I didn’t deserve it. I’m not going to pretend I’m happy about that. I want you to be angry at me, Max.”

Max reached up and took Chloe’s face in her hands. They locked eyes with each other, Max giving Chloe a sympathetic smile that almost melted Chloe’s heart.

“You’re such an asshole,” Max said. “Chloe, I love you. I know you’re not a bad person. You tried to make it better for me and I’m forever grateful. I don’t deserve any of this. I don’t deserve someone who would literally break time just to make me happy.”

Chloe shut her eyes. This was what everything had been leading up to, wasn’t it? She thought it was the bunker or taking down Mr. Jefferson or finding Rachel Amber’s body. But it wasn’t any of those things. That entire week had been leading up to Max and Chloe being together at that specific moment in time in that specific place.

Max stroked Chloe’s rain-soaked face.

“And you don’t have to act like you’re a badass all the time,” she said. “I know you get scared, Chloe. I know you have feelings. You’re Chloe fucking Price and you need to own that.”

Chloe nodded. Yeah, she _was_ Chloe fucking Price. She liked _anime_ and sci-fi movies and folk punk bands. And she’d spent way too much of her life trying to protect Max. Protect her from bullies, protect her from dickholes like Nathan Prescott and Damon Merrick. Chloe didn’t regret any of that, but they’d both changed so much since they were kids. Max didn’t need a hero. Not anymore. Max just needed a friend. Someone to be there for her when stuff got bad.

“Yeah,” said Chloe. “I’m awesome. _We’re_ awesome. We’re the best.”

It was sort of funny. The world was ending and all Chloe could think about was how much she wanted to kiss Max again.

But Chloe felt her knees buckle. She felt her legs collapse under her. She heard Max shouting her name. It sounded like Max was screaming from the other end of a tunnel. And Chloe could feel her entire body crumpling like a paper bag. She didn’t know what was happening. She didn’t understand why the world was spinning around her. And Chloe didn’t have time to be scared before she was on the ground, before she felt Max holding her. That was the last thing Chloe felt before she passed out.

Chloe thought she was used to her body doing weird stuff. But this wasn’t like the nosebleeds or the headaches. This was abrupt and messy. This was the second time in less than twenty-four hours that Chloe had passed out like that. And it was only slightly better than getting jabbed by a needle and falling to the ground.

She opened her eyes. Chloe wasn’t in front of the lighthouse anymore. She couldn’t hear the rain or the wind. And Max wasn’t there. _What the hell?_

Chloe touched the front of her shirt. No raincoat. She expected to be soaked right through her clothes, but she was completely dry. Her jeans weren’t plastered to her legs and her hair wasn’t damp. She wasn’t even outside.

She looked around. Chloe was standing in the middle of the Two Whales Diner. Standing there in her hoodie, shirt, and jeans. There was no rain battering the windows. The outside was totally dark, like someone had picked up the diner and plopped it down in the void. Spooky. And probably really bad.

The Two Whales wasn’t empty. It was filled with people. People Chloe recognized. Blackwell students, Principal Wells, Frank. Even Pompidou was there, frozen in the middle of wagging his tail. They were all looking at her, their faces totally blank. Chloe scanned the room for Max, but she didn’t see her among the massive crowd.

But she did see someone else she knew. The last person Chloe would have expected to be there in whatever weird nightmare realm she’d stumbled into. They were sitting at a booth, unmoving and staring out the window. They were the only person not looking at her. Somehow that made Chloe even more uncomfortable.

She slid into the booth. Chloe tried to ignore how many eyes were on her. She could feel them staring at her, their eyes shifting even as the rest of their bodies remained unmoving. No one was saying anything.

The person in the booth slowly turned to look at her. Chloe was less startled than she expected to be. For some reason, she wasn’t as freaked out as she should have been. Maybe the craziness had finally worn off and she was officially immune. But even then, she should have been a little weirded out about seeing her own face staring at her.

“What the hell is going on?” Chloe said.

Other Chloe rolled her eyes.

“Holy shit,” she said. “You are _such_ a dumbass. It’s like you’re trying to be the dumbest person in the room. Isn’t it obvious, asshole? You passed out and now you’re talking to yourself.”

Chloe leaned back in her seat.

“Oh,” was all she could say.

Other Chloe laughed. It was a harsh cruel laugh that Chloe didn’t recognize. It sounded nothing like her own.

“ _God_ ,” said Other Chloe. “You’re so fucking sad. What, did you think I had some super important wisdom for you? Were you waiting for me to fix your problems? Get real, Price. You’re so pathetic.”

Chloe clenched her fists. She couldn’t believe she was arguing with, well, herself, but it wasn’t like she had a choice. If she wouldn’t take that kind of bullshit from those hicks at Blackwell, she definitely wasn’t going to take it from herself.

“I tried to do the right thing,” Chloe said. “What the hell do you want from me?”

Other Chloe snorted.

“No, you tried to do the easy thing,” Other Chloe said. “You really think one girl is worth all this? You think all of this is worth it just so you can trick Max into thinking she gives a shit about your sorry ass? Wake up, Price. Max was better off with Rachel.”

Chloe looked away and rubbed her arm.

“That’s—that’s not–,” she started.

Other Chloe grabbed the table and leaned forward.

“Do you really think Max wants to be with someone whose such a fucking loser?” said Other Chloe. “Do you really think anyone actually likes you? You’re just like Nathan. You destroy stuff and then you trick people into feeling sorry for you.”

Chloe slammed her fists on the table.

“Shut up,” she said. “Just shut the fuck up. What do you know about Max?”

She spoke before Other Chloe could reply, her voice rising. Everyone was always getting on her crack. Principal Wells, Nathan, even her parents. They all thought Chloe was the biggest fuck-up in the universe. And maybe that was totally true. Maybe Chloe was just destined to screw everything up. But she was _trying._ Couldn’t anyone see that Chloe was _trying?_ What the hell was everyones’ problem?

“What do you know about me?” Chloe said. “You can’t blame me for any of that, you son of a bitch. I didn’t make this storm. I didn’t force Max to forgive me. I didn’t—I didn’t cause any of this. You can’t pin all of this on me.”

Her voice cracked. No one really believed in her. Except Max. Steph and Mikey did too. Steph and Mikey believed in Chloe even though she’d done nothing to deserve that. Max trusted Chloe even though Chloe had fucked up both of their lives.

“Yeah, I was selfish,” Chloe said. “But do you think I knew any of this was going to happen?”

She paused for a second before continuing.

“Max would have done the same thing for me,” Chloe said. “We have each others’ backs. You can’t break up our team.”

She locked eyes with Other Chloe.

“I’m not scared of you,” Chloe said. “Do you think after all the shit I’ve been through this week, _you’re_ what scares me?”

Other Chloe didn’t say anything. She just kept staring at Chloe with that passive smile on her face, like this was all a huge joke. And maybe it was. Maybe Chloe’s entire life was some prank the universe was playing on her.

Chloe stood up. She really wanted to stand there and just scream at, well, herself. This whole entire conversation was dumb and a waste of her time. When had she ever actually listened to herself? That little voice in her head telling her she was wrong, that she should calm the fuck down and think? That had always been Max. Chloe could do that for herself now. She finally understood why hopping back and forth through time wasn’t making anything better: because she was the only person who stayed the same. Everyone else got to live and grow, but Chloe was just _stuck._ Stuck in time.

She dragged a hand through her hair. _Fuck_. That was some heavy stuff. Ms. Holt would have been super proud of her. But only if she lived through this.

Chloe grinned. Her chances with Ms. Holt were already dead, but now she could consider them nuked. Ms. Holt wasn’t going to hook up with the girl who got her boyfriend thrown in prison forever. And honestly? Chloe was one hundred percent fine with that. It was never going to happen and now it extra wasn’t going to happen. Big fucking deal. Chloe needed to stop pining like a goddamn teenager.

She turned and just walked out of the diner. Chloe didn’t look back. There was no urge to fight, no overwhelming sense of loss when she went through that door. There was just this deep down relief that Chloe wasn’t used to.

Chloe expected to wake up after she went through that door. But she didn’t.

She was standing next to someone. Someone a little shorter. Longer hair. Wearing that Arcadia Bay sweatshirt. Did Chloe even still have that shirt? Or did it get tossed before the move? It was one of those things that Chloe never thought she would miss. And she didn’t. She didn’t miss Arcadia Bay. Chloe missed Max, she missed the lighthouse, and she missed the diner. But she didn’t miss Arcadia Bay. Not that it mattered when she was literally standing in the void with her younger self. This place was totally empty.

_Almost_ empty. A few feet away, standing in the middle of the, well, _nothing_ there was a deer. And it was staring right at them, unblinking. It wasn’t transparent this time. It was solid, so solid and real that Chloe felt like she could have touched it. It was just looking at them.

Chloe glanced at her younger self. So that was what she looked like the last time she was happy, the last time she was hopeful. Young, naive. Strawberry-blonde hair, as Max would have called it.

She had so many dreams. So many stupid dreams about stupid things. And none of those dreams included freak storms or time powers. They mostly involved road trips and concerts. _There’s still time for you, Price._

She choked out a laugh at her own joke. And then she laughed harder, even though it wasn’t funny. Chloe laughed until she woke up.

* * *

Chloe was lying with her head in Max’s lap. When her eyes fluttered open, Chloe saw stairs. They weren’t outside anymore. Max must have dragged her unconscious body into the lighthouse. Chloe could still hear the wind and rain screaming outside, but it sounded way less threatening.

“The Amazing Spider-Max,” Chloe said.

Max laughed, rubbing tears out of her eyes.

“Shut up,” said Max.

Chloe lifted her head. She remembered Max as this scrawny little thing who could barely lift a teddy bear without getting winded. But that was all it was, right? A memory. Something that only really existed in their mind vaults.

She could hear someone muttering to themselves. Chloe rubbed the side of her head and scanned the limited space around them.

Nathan was sitting on the steps a few feet up, his head in his hands. Chloe couldn’t hear what he was saying, but it definitely wasn’t good. The guy sounded like he was having the biggest and worst mental breakdown of his entire life. It was the first time all of them had been on totally equal ground: trapped, scared, and no amount of Prescott cash was going to get Nathan out of this one. If Chloe hadn’t been in the same fragile emotional state, she would have pointed and laughed.

He raised his head and looked right at them. His eyes were puffy from crying and his face had lost most of its color. Chloe again felt that pang of guilt and sympathy when she saw how human he looked. Really easy to forget that he’d shot Max in a bathroom and threatened Chloe in the parking lot. But those things didn’t really matter because there was a huge chance that all three of them were about to die.

“I didn’t mean to hurt anyone,” said Nathan.

Chloe straightened up, arranging herself on the steps next to Max.

“Yeah, well, you did,” Chloe said. “You hurt Max, you hurt me, and—and that’s not cool, Prescott.”

Nathan’s face contorted in anger. He pointed at Chloe, but he stayed where he was. He seemed reluctant to get near her. Maybe this was evolution or maybe he just hadn’t figured out how to throttle her. But they were beyond petty school rivalries and dumb Blackwell stuff. Somewhere in his screwed up brain, Nathan must have realized that.

“What the fuck are you even doing here?” said Nathan.

Chloe opened her mouth, then closed it. That was the million dollar question. What was she doing here? Chloe still wasn’t sure why she let Max drag her to the lighthouse. Probably not the best place to wait out the storm. The bunker would have been a hundred times better. How exactly was this supposed to help anyone?

“You said you could help me,” said Nathan.

Chloe swallowed. And against all odds, Nathan must have believed that. Otherwise he wouldn’t have escaped Jefferson somehow and sent Max that message. But could they actually help Nathan? Probably not. Chloe could barely help herself.

“We can’t, Nathan,” said Chloe. “I’m sorry.”

Nathan whimpered and put his head in his hands, muttering apologies to himself. He started sobbing again. Apparently his whole macho rich kid act had finally broken down. No more scary Prescott. Just a miserable messed up kid who was watching his entire life collapse.

Chloe was starting to get why the guy loved his drugs so much. He must have been trying to medicate the pain away. Rachel Amber, Mr. Jefferson, The Dark Room, Damon, the storm. No wonder he was so fucked up. It didn’t excuse any of the messed up stuff he did, but it did explain why Nathan was like that. From the very beginning, this had always been about the Prescotts.

Weirdly, it reminded Chloe of the four animals on the Tobanga totem: the whale, the otter, the bird, and the squirrel. Chloe had barely thought about that totem before all of this started. But with what Samantha said about spirit animals, Chloe suddenly wished she’d caught a whiff of all this paranormal stuff a long time ago. The Tobanga had to be a part of this. It was an anomaly even before Chloe came back to Arcadia Bay.

If Chloe had been a spiritual person—and she was considering becoming one—she would have said that the Tobanga was a protector. But she wasn’t even sure what that was supposed to mean or how it connected to the storm. It _did_ connect to Chloe’s powers, but she couldn’t really see the larger picture. Whatever was going on in Arcadia Bay, Chloe wasn’t meant to have a big slice of the story. She was just a player, not the game master.

Max pulled something out of her bag and slid it into Chloe’s lap. She wasn’t smiling. None of them were.

Chloe looked at the thing Max had put in her lap, her eyebrows quirked in surprise. It was her graffiti journal. It felt like ages since she’d seen it. Chloe didn’t even know why she started using that thing. She just liked keeping a record of her achievements. It was like a diary of Chloe’s best moments.

Max bit her lip and looked away.

“I’ve been thinking,” Max said. “This—this all started because of me, right? Because you thought you had to save me. You fucked up the timeline trying to keep me safe. So—so if you unfucked the timeline, maybe—maybe none of this would happen.”

Chloe glanced from the book to Max. It took her a minute to realize what Max was saying.

“No,” said Chloe. “No fucking way.”

She handed the book back to Max, her hands shaking. Chloe wasn’t going to lie to herself. Yeah, she’d thought about it. And she knew it had been on Max’s mind since this whole thing kicked off. The idea that this whole thing happened because Chloe decided she’d prefer it if her best friend didn’t die in a bathroom. When Chloe laid it out like that, it sounded all kinds of insane. But it made sense. Chaos theory. The butterfly effect.

Hypothetically, what would happen if Chloe went back? Max would die in that bathroom. Max would die without ever knowing that Chloe actually cared about her. She’d die thinking she’d been abandoned by her best friend _and_ the girl she loved.

But Nathan Prescott would finally get what he deserved. The Prescotts would get what they’d had coming for a thousand years. Nathan would probably get tossed into a padded room, Sean Prescott’s luck would finally run out, Samantha would be okay, and the storm would never happen. All Chloe had to do was sacrifice her best friend. All she had to do was let Max die in that bathroom.

“Forget it, Mad Max,” said Chloe.

Max took Chloe’s hand in her own and squeezed it. She’d thought about this more than she wanted to, weighing the pros and cons. The biggest con was that this entire week would become meaningless. Max would never have those memories because none of that would have happened to that version of her.

“This is my decision, Chloe,” said Max. “It’s my life. I get to choose.”

She tightened her grip on Chloe’s hand.

“I don’t want to just _leave,”_ said Max. “I—I know you hate this place and you wanted us to get out of here. But you saw all those people suffering. Suffering because of us.”

Chloe yanked her hand out of Max’s grip, surprising both herself and Max. Chloe was steamed. Completely pissed in ways she couldn’t articulate. They were having such a nice moment. And then Max had to go and ruin it with all of her self-sacrifice nonsense.

“Bullshit,” Chloe said. “It’s not just your life. What about David? And your mom? And me?”

Max gestured angrily at the closed lighthouse door.

“What about all those people down there?” Max said. “I can’t—I can’t just kill a whole town. I can’t hurt everyone like that. Chloe, that’s not fair. You think your friends deserve this shit?”

Chloe rolled her eyes. Seriously? _Seriously?_ She couldn’t believe she was dealing with this. How was this even a conversation they were having?

“No one deserves anything, Maxine,” said Chloe. “You of all people should know that.”

She grabbed Max by the shoulders and shook her.

“Get a grip, girlfriend,” Chloe said. “I just got you back. You don’t get to hit me with this “heroic sacrifice” bullcrap.”

She gripped Max’s shoulders, looking her right in the eyes.

“This has been going on for a long time,” Chloe said. “The Prescotts, Arcadia Bay. It’s like we’re trapped in this eternal loop of—of _bullshit.”_

Max touched Chloe’s wrist.

“But why you, Chloe?” she said. “It had to be for a reason, right? You were given this power–”

Chloe interrupted.

“Holy _fuck,_ Max,” said Chloe. “There’s no—there’s no destiny, okay? This started before any of us were even born! I’m just another pawn in the—the _whatever._ I didn’t ask for this. I didn’t get this power because I’m some—some bastion of heroism. I’m just a scientist.”

She let out a long tired sigh.

“Are there people who deserve to live way more than us?” said Chloe. “Yeah. No shit. But that’s not our decision to make. I am done trying to fix things.”

Chloe grabbed Max’s hand, squeezing it so hard that she might have cut off circulation. That last part wasn’t entirely true: if she had a chance—a real chance—to make all of this better, of course she was going to do it. For Max and everyone else Chloe cared about. But any option that involved giving Max up wasn’t an option. There was obviously an alternate reality where Chloe made that decision, so why did it even matter? In this reality, Chloe was digging her nails in. It was just time.

She slid her hand out of Max’s and opened her palm. Chloe stared at it, blinking like she was looking into a bright light. _Time_. How many Chloes existed in how many realities? And how many of those Chloes were standing right where she was? There had to be millions. Billions. Thinking about it gave Chloe the worst headache.

She swiped a finger across her upper lip. _Fuck_. Another nosebleed? Why now?

Chloe twisted around to look at Nathan. She was surprised he hadn’t said anything this whole time. But he was in his own messed up little world, sobbing his eyes out. After all the shit he’d pulled, was that really all he could do? Cry and make her feel kind of sorry for him?

She stood up. When Chloe thought about all those endless timelines and the crappy decisions she’d made—or was making or would make—in all of them, nothing else seemed to actually matter. Chloe could screw up. She could ruin everything. But there was always another Chloe making a better decision. Maybe Chloe wanted to be that Chloe. For the sake of all the others. But she still wanted to be reckless, because that was her brand. It was what made her better than all those other Chloes.

“No more bullshit, Prescott,” Chloe said.

Nathan lifted his head again and looked at her. He was trying to look intimidating, but he looked more like a cat caught in the rain. He was damp from the storm, his hair was a mess, and his jacket was hanging loosely from his shoulders like a cape.

“Fuck off,” said Nathan.

Chloe folded her arms. As if she hadn’t heard that one a million times before.

“The storm, Nathan,” Chloe said. “The storm.”

Nathan shook his head and hugged himself. He stared at the wall, his eyes still swollen from his crying session. Chloe was starting to wonder if it was rain or tears that had soaked the collar of his shirt. Probably a mixture of both.

“What the fuck do you want from me?” Nathan said. “It was a dumb story my dad told me. I got nosebleeds and I saw things, but then I took my meds and all that stopped. That what you wanted to hear, bitch?”

Chloe flinched. _Shit_. Nathan definitely needed his meds for more than nosebleeds.

But that was all Nathan would say. Chloe tried to get more out of him, but he just clammed up again. And Chloe wasn’t in the mood to weasel more information out of him. She wasn’t sure anything he said could have helped them.

So if all of this was beyond science, Chloe needed to stop thinking about it like an equation or a formula. She needed to embrace it for what it was: freaky supernatural shit. The purest form of “chaos theory”. Except it wasn’t just a “theory” anymore. The chaos was real.

She sat down and grabbed Max’s hand.

“I will always love you,” Chloe said. “In every reality, in every timeline. Even in the ones where I—where I let you go.”

Max patted Chloe’s hand.

“I know, you dork,” she said.

They hugged for maybe the third time that night. Chloe had lost count. It didn’t really matter. Each hug felt like the first time they’d ever touched each other. It was so warm and full of promises that neither one of them knew they would be able to keep. It was kind of funny: they went from best pals to girlfriends—Chloe was finally ready to use that word—in record time. Chloe always thought it would be years or even decades before she was comfortable enough with her sexuality to pursue an actual relationship with someone. And who even knew if this would last? But their bond—their friendship—could survive anything. A messy break-up was nothing compared to the shit they’d gone through.

Max sighed, listening to the rain battering the walls. They could only hope that the lighthouse was still standing after this was all over.

Chloe had to believe that Arcadia Bay had brought the three of them together for a reason. So they could help each other, so they could survive. Their lives were so chaotic and messed up. Why not throw a monster storm and freaky visions into the mix?

Chloe fell asleep in Max’s arms. She didn’t want to, but her eyelids were heavy and Max was warm. Even Nathan’s sobbing in the background couldn’t kill Chloe’s happiness. And the storm raging outside quickly faded to the back of her mind. None of it felt real.

* * *

Chloe blinked, holding up an arm to shield her eyes from the harsh lights. It was way too bright in there. It was like she was staring directly into a light bulb. It got better when she squinted, but only slightly.

Chloe was standing in the middle of, well, _nothing_. A bright void. Chloe wasn’t even sure what she was supposed to be standing on. When she looked down, all she saw was the same brightness. But she didn’t feel like she was standing on air or falling. The floor was completely solid under her feet, even though there wasn’t any floor. And when Chloe raised both arms like she was trying to fly, she realized that there were no walls. That made sense. Why would a void need walls?

Chloe wondered if she was dead. She’d never been to church and she wasn’t totally sold on the paradise and hellfire stuff. Chloe never had anything to believe in except science. It was a cheesy thing to say, but it was the truth. If all the stories were true, Chloe was probably in serious fucking trouble. She hadn’t exactly kept herself free of sin.

There was another person standing a few feet away. Chloe was pretty sure she’d been alone two seconds ago. She definitely would have noticed someone else in this vast nothing she was standing in. But now someone else was there. Someone Chloe didn’t recognize. If anything, she’d expected it to be Max or maybe Nathan. But it couldn’t have been either of them. The hair was a dead giveaway.

“Hey,” Chloe said.

She walked forward, but it didn’t feel like she was moving. It felt more like the void was moving around her.

Chloe reached the person and grabbed their shoulder. A split second before her hand touched them, Chloe felt like she knew exactly who it was. But she had to see their face first. She had to be sure.

The person—a girl—turned around. She was wearing a blue flannel shirt with a torn sleeve and ripped jeans. There was a blue feather dangling from one ear. Chloe couldn’t be sure, but she had a pretty clear picture in her head of which tattoos the girl had. She remembered them being mentioned on the Missing poster. And even if she had forgotten that crucial detail, Chloe would have recognized that face anywhere. No one forgot a face like that. No one just forgot about Rachel Amber.

Rachel didn’t smile. She had her arms folded and her face was almost entirely blank. She was looking Chloe up and down, almost like she was sizing her up. Chloe was pretty sure she was being judged.

“Hey,” Rachel said.

She sounded exactly how Chloe imagined she would sound.

Chloe took a step back.

“What the hell?” Chloe said.

Rachel laughed.

“Wow, rude,” she said.

She looked _older_ than Chloe had first pictured. Older and slightly different than that photo on the posters. When Chloe imagined Rachel Amber, she imagined an unknowable goddess in human form. Beautiful, filled with arcane power, and the key to everything that was wrong in Arcadia Bay. This Rachel just radiated teen angst and attitude. Somehow that was scarier than if she’d decided to smite Chloe where she stood.

Rachel turned away, staring at the _nothing_ like it was an attraction.

“You’re not dead, by the way,” Rachel said.

Chloe thought hearing that would make her relax, but it just made her more confused. Okay, not dead. _Awesome._ So why the fuck was she there? Why was _Rachel freaking Amber_ standing in front of her?

“So, what?” Chloe said. “This is all in my head? You’re just a figment of my imagination?”

Rachel shrugged.

“Maybe,” Rachel said. “Does it matter?”

Chloe had to admit that it didn’t. How many times had she wished she could talk to Rachel? At least thirty or forty. And now that Rachel was literally in front of her, Chloe suddenly didn’t have any questions to ask.

“So why am I here?” Chloe said. “So you can lecture me about what a screw-up I am? Get in line, Amber.”

Rachel turned around and looked at her. She still wasn’t smiling.

“I don’t know,” Rachel said. “Why do _you_ think you’re here?”

Chloe rolled her eyes and spread her arms in frustration.

“I don’t have time for fucking riddles,” said Chloe. “Just—just tell me what I need to know. For once, just _tell me.”_

Rachel blinked at her, seemingly unfazed by Chloe’s outburst. Her expression stayed the same. The more Chloe thought about the posters, the more she realized that she was screaming at a dead girl. But Chloe couldn’t let herself feel shitty about that.

“What do _you_ think you know?” Rachel said.

Chloe groaned in frustration. Dead or not, she really wanted to punch Rachel in the face. Max never had to know, right? And it wasn’t like any of this was real. The only thing holding Chloe back was the fact that she’d dug up Rachel’s corpse several hours ago. Breaking Rachel’s nose so soon after discovering her body was probably in poor taste.

“I don’t know _anything,”_ Chloe said. “The Prescotts are insane cultists _maybe._ Nathan and me are connected _maybe._ Arcadia Bay is full of powerful forces that my dumb little brain can’t even begin to understand _maybe.”_

Rachel nodded at Chloe.

“I’m in your head, remember?” Rachel said. “I can’t tell you anything that you don’t already know.”

Chloe sighed. She wanted and needed something more than that, but honestly? Chloe was tired. So freaking _tired._ Sick of her brain being cryptic, sick of everything that made no sense, sick of asking herself the same questions over and over again. Sick of feeling like she had control over this…. _chaos._

“Let me guess,” Chloe said. “To save Arcadia Bay, I have to make some kind of big heroic sacrifice. I have to—to give myself to the storm so everyone else can live. I have to leave this timeline so it can be saved. Is that it?”

Rachel turned away from Chloe, staring off into a distance that didn’t exist.

“Why are you and Nathan connected?” said Rachel.

Chloe’s head reeled from the change of subject, but she managed to answer. She shrugged, her shoulders shaking a little as she readjusted herself to this brand new topic.

“I don’t know, dude,” Chloe said. “We’re both _angry,_ I guess? We’re both fucked up, but in different ways? We both—we both like playing with guns. We’re both entitled and kind of selfish and—and we hurt people close to us.”

Rachel nodded.

“And Max tried to save both of you,” said Rachel.

She laughed bitterly.

“She tried to save _me,”_ Rachel said. “Too bad it didn’t work. I guess I was too broken. And I guess Nathan was too high and mighty. But you?”

She turned back to Chloe.

“Max saved you,” Rachel said.

She gestured around her, even though there was nothing inside that little void.

“Is this really the reality you want to live in?” said Rachel. “You still have a choice, Chloe. You said it yourself: it doesn’t matter if you save Max or not. In another reality, she’s dead.”

Chloe took a step towards Rachel.

“Max didn’t save me,” Chloe said. “ _I_ saved me. Is that what Max was to you? A fucking knight in shining armor?”

Rachel bowed her head.

“Max was—she was the love of my life,” Rachel said. “And now she’s yours. I can’t be even be pissed about that. You’re better for her than I ever was.”

Chloe bit her lip. She was over being jealous of Rachel, but at the same time, she had to ask herself: was what Max and Rachel had even real? Max made it sound so fleeting and emotional. A typical teen romance.

Rachel raised her head and stared at Chloe.

“Time to wake up,” she said.

Chloe opened her mouth. Her head was filled with meaningless questions and this might be her only chance. There were so many things she wanted— _needed–_ to know before she closed this chapter of her screwed-up life. But she doubted Rachel had any of the answers she wanted. It was like Rachel said at the beginning: she didn’t know anything that Chloe didn’t know herself. And Chloe knew jack-shit.

She raised her hand to flip Rachel off, realized that was probably super uncool of her, and awkwardly turned her half-raised middle finger into a wave. Chloe wanted to be pissed at Rachel for, well, all the crap she’d put Max through. Jerking Max around, keeping secrets from her, disappearing, dying. It was really hard to be angry at a ghost. Maybe that was why Max was so quick to forgive Rachel about everything, even if Rachel probably didn’t deserve a lot of it. A dead girl couldn’t defend herself.

Chloe felt herself getting dragged back to the waking world. It was a physical sensation, like someone was tugging on the back of her hoodie. Chloe didn’t even try to keep herself anchored in that weird void.

Chloe watched as Rachel Amber blinked out of existence. For a split second, Chloe thought she saw a doe—almost transparent and staring right at her—where Rachel was supposed to be standing. But by the time Chloe processed the image enough to be sure, the void had totally collapsed around her.

Chloe was pretty sure the doe had been there. Pretty sure. But how could she be sure of anything? It was only a dream.

Chloe was lying with her head snuggled in Max’s lap. They were still in the lighthouse. Chloe instantly recognized the stairs and the thick walls. She was surprised that Max hadn’t dragged her up the stairs and into the main area at the top. Chloe wasn’t sure she’d ever really been up there.

Chloe lifted her head out of Max’s lap. Max had somehow fallen asleep on the stairs, her head bowed forward at a weird angle and her shoulders slumped. She almost looked dead, like she just collapsed where she was standing. But Chloe checked Max’s pulse before she fully straightened up. Confirmed that Max was totally alive. Probably stressed and tired, but alive.

She got to her feet. Chloe was momentarily shocked to realize that the storm hadn’t obliterated the lighthouse. It had to be luck. Luck or whatever else had saved them a dozen times before.

Nathan was curled up on the steps a few feet up. Chloe thought he was asleep at first, but she noticed his eyes were open and he was mouthing something to himself. He glanced at her for a second. Just a second, like he wanted to show Chloe the pain in his eyes again. And then he was back to staring off into the distance and mouthing words.

Chloe shook Max to wake her up. The moment she touched Max’s shoulder, Chloe realized that she couldn’t hear the storm outside. The howling wind was gone, the rain had totally stopped. It sounded like another wonderful morning in Arcadia Bay. Chloe had a feeling it wasn’t.

Max woke up after a few shakes. She balled her hands into fists and scrubbed the sleep out of her eyes.

“Hey,” Max said.

Chloe touched Max’s face and forced herself to smile.

“Hey,” she said.

Chloe hoisted her bag onto her shoulder. She could feel the weight of all her stuff, including her graffiti journal. She had no idea where her phone was. It was a silly thing to worry about, but Chloe really needed to be better about that. Keeping her phone on her, answering texts, making sure it was charged. Chloe needed to be ready for any and all emergencies.

Max stood up, hoisting her own bag. She was chewing her lip and staring at her feet. Her eyes were filled with guilt. Chloe didn’t even have to guess why.

Chloe massaged the strap of her bag. _Fuck._ They really did that. They hid out in the lighthouse like scared little babies. They let people _die._ In the—metaphorical–light of day, suddenly Chloe’s reasoning about alternate realities didn’t make a lot of sense. Yeah, this was just _one_ reality. But was it the reality Chloe wanted to live in?

She headed down the stairs. There was only one way to figure out if any of this had been worth it. The pit in Chloe’s stomach was growing. She thought she could deal with loss. The first time, when she chose to let Ryan Caulfield die when she could have saved him? Chloe could brush that off because it wasn’t like her and Ryan were best buds. It hurt because of Max and telling her almost broke Chloe, but she could get over that. Whatever was behind that door was probably going to be the thing that broke her like an eggshell.

Max grabbed Chloe’s hand and squeezed it. Another reminder of why Chloe did all this. A reminder of how Chloe was going to get through the next few hours.

“Nathan?” said Max.

Chloe glanced over her shoulder.

Nathan was still curled up on the steps. He wasn’t mouthing words anymore, but his eyes were wide and he looked like he was about to start crying again. Chloe would have called it a breakdown, but that felt sort of mild. Nathan’s entire life was a breakdown. The storm had shaken something loose inside of him. Chloe didn’t know what it was, but she was done being overcome with sympathy every time she looked at him. He made his choice. It was fucked up that his life had turned out this way, but Nathan couldn’t shovel the blame onto Sean Prescott or any of the other assholes in Arcadia Bay. At the same time, Chloe recognized that he wasn’t totally at fault for his bad decisions. A different reality had taught Chloe that nothing was ever that simple.

“Let’s go,” Chloe said.

They left Nathan in the lighthouse. If he wanted to tag along with them, Chloe was probably going to tell him to fuck off. As long as that asshole stayed out of their way, there shouldn’t be a problem. And despite everything, Chloe did kind of hope that Nathan made it out of this. She hoped he got help.

Chloe opened the door of the lighthouse. She squinted into the sunlight. It shouldn’t have been so bright and cheerful out there. It should have been gray, depressing, and ominous. It was almost like the storm hadn’t even been there. But Chloe knew her first glimpse wasn’t showing her the whole picture.

They left the lighthouse and went into town together.

When Chloe saw the town, another hole opened up in her stomach. She knew it would be bad, but…. _fuck._ She kind of tricked herself into thinking it couldn’t be nearly as bad as she thought it was. Chloe had lived through a storm before. It had scared her shitless while it was happening, but ultimately it was just rain and wind while Chloe was snuggled up in bed. That had been one of those little summer storms, the kind that knocked out the power for a few hours and maybe toppled a lamppost or two. But this? This was a _real_ storm, the kind that took out entire buildings and left piles of rubble everywhere.

It looked like a giant had stormed through town, knocking buildings over with its gigantic hands and kicking over cars. The image in Chloe’s head would have been funny if she hadn’t been standing in the middle of a disaster site. She wasn’t ready. No one could have been ready.

Chloe and Max passed the Two Whales Diner. One of the few buildings that was mostly intact. Chloe couldn’t see any movement through the windows, but she told herself that it was because everyone inside had ducked out of sight. Or maybe there was a basement or bomb shelter Chloe didn’t know about. Either way, the building wasn’t totally destroyed. So there had to be survivors inside, right? Chloe didn’t want to slow down and check, even though it hurt her heart not to. She couldn’t stand the thought of finding a dead body.

There were people walking around, people moving through rubble and upside down cars and piles of debris. Chloe heard a few voices—she didn’t recognize any of them—screaming names. She heard sobbing. People were just sitting in the road or on the sidewalks, comforting each other and crying their eyes out.

Chloe glimpsed a man—she didn’t see his face, but he looked kind of like Samuel—pulling a sheet over an unmoving body. Chloe tried not to look at anyone or anything as she walked. She tried not to think about what the storm had done. She tried to stop blaming herself. But the guilt was throbbing in her chest. All that destruction and pain. And for _what?_ What had Chloe gained from destroying her childhood home? Max? Trauma? Revenge?

She shook her head, clinging to Max like she might fall apart. _No._ Chloe couldn’t beat herself up about this for the rest of her life. She was probably going to, but she didn’t have to do it _right now._

“Pompidou!”

Chloe raised her head at Max’s surprisingly cheerful shout.

Frank’s dog was bounding towards them, his tail wagging and his tongue hanging out of his mouth.

Chloe tensed. She expected Frank—and possibly Damon—to be right behind Pompidou. They still had unfinished business with those two. Chloe doubted a freak storm was going to stop Damon from getting on their asses. If anything, the storm had probably intensified Damon’s desire to get his money.

But Frank and Damon were nowhere in sight. It was just Pompidou.

Max bent over and rubbed Pompidou’s head. The dog looked up at her and panted. How had Chloe ever been _scared_ of that dog? He was called “Pompidou”, for fuck’s sake.

“Frank?” Max said.

Pompidou whimpered. Chloe didn’t know what that meant, but she doubted it was good. Or maybe good for _them_ and bad for Frank. Pompidou didn’t seem like he was in a hurry to take them anywhere.

Pompidou followed them. Normally Chloe would have been wary of stealing a dog from a drug dealer, but she had a feeling Frank wasn’t going to miss his faithful pooch. Just a feeling. And for what it was worth, it wasn’t like they actually _stole_ the dog. Pompidou came to them. He made his choice.

They found Max’s truck in what was left of the Blackwell parking lot. It was one of the few cars not totally wrecked. Chloe took that as a sign. Did she even _need_ a sign at this point? She just wanted to get the hell out of Arcadia Bay. Go _somewhere_ and do _something._ Forget, at least for an hour or two. Think about their next move with a clear head.

Max drove. Chloe would have volunteered to get behind the wheel, but she was too messed up to keep her attention on the road. She just stared through the windshield as Max backed out of the parking lot, Chloe’s hand idly stroking Pompidou’s soft fur.

Chloe leaned out of the passenger side window. She watched as the wrecked town sped by. Seeing it the second time, the full scope of the destruction hit her even harder. It was like getting donkey-kicked in the gut two times in a row after calling a timeout. Chloe didn’t have time to see any familiar faces. And she didn’t want to, because knowing who survived was just as bad as knowing who didn’t.

She wondered when the emergency crews were going to get there. She wondered if the town would be the same after it was rebuilt. Chloe doubted it. Even if it looked exactly the same, it wouldn’t be Arcadia Bay. Arcadia Bay was gone forever. It lived in another timeline, a timeline Chloe didn’t want to see.

They were heading to Seattle. Chloe’s parents. Neither of them said it, but they both knew exactly where they were going. William and Joyce were probably freaking out. There was no way they didn’t already know what had happened. Chloe didn’t look forward to explaining—and also _not_ explaining—exactly what had gone down. Chloe couldn’t tell her parents about her time powers. She couldn’t tell _anyone._ And that was going to make the healing process—if Chloe even _could_ heal—three times more difficult.

They passed the _You Are Now Leaving Arcadia Bay_ sign. The sign was faded and old, but Chloe could still make out the words and the cheerful illustration. She always thought she’d be glad to see that sign. When she left for Seattle, Chloe could hardly contain her excitement. But now it felt like an ending. It felt final. Because this time Chloe couldn’t come back. She’d burned that bridge.

Max reached over and rubbed Chloe’s shoulder. And despite all the pain, despite the pit in Chloe’s stomach, and despite the uncertainty of the future, Chloe felt like she was okay with this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a lot of lore and symbolism in the original game that never really gets explored, even though most of it is endlessly interesting. For example, the fact that all of the main characters have a "double" or "counterpart". Max has Rachel Amber (allegedly), Chloe has Nathan, etc. And also the lighthouse symbolizing a "beacon" of some kind or a safe place, with Max being drawn to it. I personally believe that the reason Max and Chloe were spared in the Sacrifice Arcadia Bay ending (despite the lighthouse getting destroyed in Max's vision) was the fact that they'd reached the apex of their growth/accepted the consequences of their actions, so Arcadia Bay (or whatever forces were at work) decided to let them live. I kind of wanted something like that for the ending, as well as erasing some of the worst missteps (in my opinion), which included Nathan's off-screen death. 
> 
> I have some major problems with the original game's final episode, problems that I really don't want to go into. But one huge problem was the whole concept of erasing everything. If Max goes back in time and just erases the whole week, she's basically choosing a quick fix over consequences. Sure, it's not a perfect solution because Chloe has to die (which is a whole other can of bullshit, in my humble opinion, but I won't go into that). And of course the existence of a possible third ending and tons of unused material (which was basically replaced by a useless long dream sequence) makes it very obvious that there was more stuff planned that would have fleshed everything out.


	3. Chloe's House

Once they were a few miles outside of Arcadia Bay, Max pulled over. She wanted to call her mom.

A pinprick of guilt stabbed Chloe in the heart. _Fuck._ She’d never been so happy to remember that Vanessa worked outside of town. But even knowing that Max’s mom was probably okay, Chloe still felt shitty.

Were David and Vanessa ever going to recover from this? David had been keeping so many secrets. Lying to his wife, sneaking around, putting himself in way too much danger. Vanessa was going to be pissed. And Chloe sort of felt like it was her fault. Yeah, sure, that fucker Jefferson did most of it. But Chloe just kept thinking about all the ways she could have used her rewind to actually, well, _help_ everyone around her.

Chloe leaned against the truck and shook her head. She had her earbuds in, the steady beat of “Red Minivan” by Mike Krol pumping into her ears. How many times did she have to go over this? _Chloe couldn’t save everyone._ Was it kind of her fault for not trusting David? Fuck yes. Did she have to use her powers to help _everyone_ with _everything?_ Fuck no. Chloe needed to get out of that mindset before they got to Seattle. Feeling like the worst person alive was going to get old at some point, right?

She shut her eyes and just listened to the music. This whole thing—even the general vibe of the area—reminded her of how this all started: dancing down the hallway with Just Fern in her ears and a huge grin on her face. Chloe had been so happy then. They’d _all_ been so happy then. And now Chloe needed about two hundred therapy sessions.

_Oh fuck._ Chloe laughed, but there was no humor in it. She couldn’t tell a therapist about any of this. Time powers? Butterflies? Freaky weather? Visions? No fucking way. They’d think she was psycho. They’d put her on meds or toss her in a padded room. So how did Chloe get over this? How did she move on when everything was so goddamn broken?

Chloe wished she had some weed. Something to take the edge off. But her life was all edges now. Tiny shards of glass and pieces of torn paper, as Max would have said. _God._ Max was such a fucking nerd. But also an artist.

She turned down the music, frowning into space. Okay, so Max had this thing she wanted to do with her life: photography. But what about Chloe? Chloe thought she wanted to be a scientist. She thought she wanted to blow stuff up and discover all the secrets of the universe. It was the only thing she’d ever wanted to do. But that was before the storm, before Max came back into her life, before all this crap went down.

Chloe wasn’t sure science even had her back anymore. Could science explain what had happened to them? _Fuck no._ At least not yet. And it wasn’t like Chloe could present her findings to the scientific community for study. No one was ever going to believe her. They’d think she was just some depressed traumatized teenager with a savior complex. And Chloe _was_ sort of those things, which definitely didn’t help.

Chloe shoved her hands into the pockets of her hoodie. She was wearing the exact same one she’d been wearing that first day. The day she saved Max in the bathroom. It wasn’t a conscious decision Chloe had made, or at least it didn’t feel like it was. But nothing she’d done that week felt like something planned. There had always been something guiding her to this exact point in time.

Max finally got off the phone with her mom, whispering a tearful goodbye. She tucked the phone into her pocket and turned to look at Chloe.

“Are–?” she started.

But she stopped herself, because she was about to ask the stupidest question ever. No, of course Chloe wasn’t _okay._ The dust hadn’t really settled yet. It was too fresh in their heads for them to process it. But they were getting there.

Chloe answered the question Max couldn’t ask.

“No, Mad Max,” said Chloe. “I’m kind of fucked up right now.”

Max let out a bitter laugh, dragging a hand through her messy pixie cut.

Looking at how confident Max had been with doing that to her hair, Chloe started to wonder if she should take the plunge. Chop it all off, maybe dye it blue or red or something. _Anything._ Chloe couldn’t let Max have all the fun.

“I know, right?” said Max. “ _God._ Was any of that real?”

Chloe considered. Had all of that happened? Absolutely. Did knowing that alternate realities existed make that whole thing feel way less important? _Fuck yes._ It was so hard to deal with anything when she knew there was a reality where it never happened. Or maybe there wasn’t. Maybe the storm was inevitable. Maybe the destruction of Arcadia Bay was hard-coded into the universe and it had nothing to do with Chloe, Max, or Nathan.

“This sucks,” said Max.

Chloe shook her head. Yeah, that was putting it mildly. _Crap._ If all of this was pre-destined, why did Rachel Amber have to die? What kind of screwed up universe did this? None of this was even remotely fair. It was bullshit. Destiny and fate were bullshit. Why Max and Chloe? Why _Rachel?_

Max fell against Chloe, leaning her entire weight into her. Chloe almost toppled over, but she managed to keep herself upright. She grabbed Max and held her close.

“Max?” said Chloe.

But Max hadn’t passed out. She wasn’t crying either, even though she needed to. Max had never shut down her emotions like that, but her body just refused to react. She was so sick of sobbing her eyes out, so sick of being pissed, so sick of being scared for her life. Couldn’t her and Chloe just stay there forever, standing on the side of the road and holding each other? Max wanted that more than she wanted to keep driving.

“This is my fault,” said Max.

Chloe sighed. _Really?_ Max was starting up another round of the Blame Game? It never ended.

“Really, Max?” said Chloe. “ _How?_ How is any of this on you?”

Before Max could start beating herself up over, well, _nothing,_ Chloe kept going.

“Oh, right, almost forgot,” said Chloe. “You traveled back in time and told Sean Prescott to be a total piece of shit. Oh, and who could forget when you used your freaky mind control powers to make Nathan shoot you in the bathroom? And of course you totally caused that crazy fucking tornado with your weather powers.”

She laughed.

“Get over yourself, Max Power,” said Chloe. “You’re not blaming yourself for this.”

She held Max tighter.

“Chaos Theory,” said Chloe. “This was just—just a freak thing that happened. We can beat the crap out of ourselves over what we _could_ have done, but who gives a shit? It’s done.”

Max sniffed, burying her face in Chloe’s shoulder.

“Wow,” said Max. “Teach me more, O Wise Chloe.”

Max backed away, her arms at her sides. She wasn’t smiling, but she also didn’t look like she was throwing herself a pity party.

“Sorry,” said Max. “I know this isn’t my fault. Or _your_ fault. But—I have to believe all of that happened for reason. I have to. And—and maybe the reason was that I was supposed to die in that bathroom. The universe has kind of been trying to kill me since this whole thing started.”

Chloe grabbed Max’s shoulders and squeezed.

“Don’t even think about that, okay?” said Chloe. “You didn’t die, Max. You’re alive. Here. With me. Right now. Fuck what the universe wants.”

She kind of felt super-charged, like she’d beaten the universe at its own game by keeping Max alive. But Chloe had a feeling she hadn’t beaten anything. Fighting the universe was as pointless as fighting a tornado. Chloe was done fighting. She was officially finished messing with time.

“We took the easy way out,” said Max.

Chloe rolled her eyes.

“Easy?” said Chloe. “Yeah, right, Maximus. Just jumping back and forth through time trying to save your sorry ass. So easy.”

She let go of Max’s shoulders. It was a weird time and place to be having this conversation. But there wasn’t really another time and place. Now that they were out of Arcadia Bay, Chloe had no idea what was going to happen to them. Chloe didn’t have a destiny anymore. She was on her own. Honestly, it felt good.

Chloe watched a bird—it looked like a bluebird, but fuck if she knew—land on the bed of the truck. Chloe stared at it for way longer than she should have. It was just a bird. But something about its beautiful blue wings captured her attention. It reminded her of that butterfly. The stupid butterfly that kickstarted all this bullshit.

The bird looked at her—right at her, Chloe thought, like it was trying to say something—before it tried to fly off. It didn’t seem like it was in a hurry.

Chloe raised her hand. She felt that subtle electric charge pump through her fingertips and right into her knuckles, the little tingle of power that almost made her hair stand up. She could feel it building, growing, pulsing like it was alive in her body and….and…

…….and _nothing._ Nothing happened. The tingle went away and whatever was growing inside of her winked out of existence. So she was just standing there, her hand raised and her eyes wide open. Standing and watching as the bird—oblivious–flew up and and past Chloe’s line of sight. The world didn’t even bend or twist a little.

Chloe stared at her hand, flexing her fingers. She swiped her other hand across her upper lip. No headache. No nosebleed. Chloe hadn’t even realized she was expecting both of those. But when her head didn’t feel like it was being forced through a garbage compactor and her nose didn’t start gushing blood, she realized that something was off.

Chloe didn’t have any power anymore. It was…. _gone._ Just _gone._ The Amazing Spider-Chloe was dead. She was just Chloe Elizabeth Price, Blackwell drop-out and expert graffitist.

“Max,” Chloe whispered.

Or at least she _thought_ she whispered it. But Max immediately turned to look at her, her brow furrowed.

“Chloe?” said Max. “What’s up? Does your head hurt?”

She rushed over to make sure Chloe was okay. Not that either of them were _okay_ after that, but Chloe seemed especially not-okay. Something had wrung most of the color out of Chloe’s face and her hands were shaking. Bad sign. _Really_ bad sign. Max legitimately thought Chloe was having a panic attack. She was surprised that it took this long for Chloe to have one.

Chloe shook her head, flexing her shaking hands and trying to feel _something. Anything._ But there was nothing inside of her anymore. Nothing that mattered. Just a heart and lungs and all that stuff. Even the tingle in her fingers was totally gone. Gone like it had never been there.

“I— _fuck,”_ Chloe said. “What I have— _had–_ have–it’s _gone,_ Max. It’s not there anymore. I don’t have any power.”

Max grabbed Chloe’s wrist, quirking her eyebrow in surprise.

“Wait, for real?” said Max. “You’re not, like, punking me?”

Chloe touched Max’s hand. It was like someone had chopped off one of her fingers. The hand still functioned, but it almost didn’t feel like her hand anymore.

“No,” she said. “It’s—it’s really gone.”

She expected this crushing sense of loss, but she was surprisingly calm. After the initial shock wore off, Chloe realized that she was already starting to detox from this awful insane week. Nothing freaked her out anymore.

It was _over._ The storm, her powers, Arcadia Bay, the Prescotts. It was all just _over._ And Chloe was never going to figure out why any of it happened. A week ago, that would have pissed her off. But Chloe didn’t have the strength or the focus to be mad about that. Science? Magic? Who gave a shit?

Chloe’s phone vibrated in her bag. Chloe totally forgot that she put it in there. Or maybe Max did? Really hard to keep track. Everything was so scattered. Chloe was still wrapping her head around all those alternate realities.

She took it out without thinking about it. Chloe was caught off guard by the fact that she was actually getting a text from someone. That was surreal enough to snatch her attention and disorient her for a few seconds.

She glimpsed a wall of contacts and unanswered messages. Chloe focused on the person who’d texted her a second ago: Mikey. One of fifty texts he’d sent her.

Chloe turned off her phone and slipped it into her pocket without answering. Her heart was hammering so hard that Chloe was scared it might shatter her ribcage. _No. Nope. No freaking way._ Chloe wasn’t ready for this. Maybe after they got to Seattle, after they knew everything was mostly okay again. But for now? Chloe couldn’t handle this.

She dragged a hand through her hair. And now there was no going back. Chloe made her choice. Decided to stay in this shitty post-Arcadia Bay reality. Chose Max’s life over the lives of several others. Decided to face the music and let consequences be, well, _consequences._ It sounded more reasonable every time Chloe repeated it in her head.

Chloe was officially stuck. Arcadia Bay had finally released her. Did that mean she’d made the right choice? Or maybe she’d never had a choice in the first place. Chloe never really had control over that chaos.

All that stuff about alternate realities, butterflies, timelines? It was all behind her. None of that was part of her anymore. Chloe’s life was her own and the only reality that existed for her was the one that she chose. She was free.

Chloe opened the passenger’s side door. Pompidou lifted his head and barked at her. Apparently Pompidou had decided that any friend of Max Caulfield was okay in his book. _Awesome._ Chloe appreciated not being turned into dog food.

They drove away together, Pompidou resting his head in Chloe’s lap and the radio blaring. It felt like a road trip. It wasn’t, but it felt like one. Just two girls—neither of them superheroes—driving to Seattle with their dog. Living the dream.

A song Chloe didn’t recognize came on the radio: “High Above Chicago” by Fialta. Chloe and Max sang along to it, even though they didn’t really know the lyrics.

* * *

Chloe and Max met the Prices outside of their house. There was a lot of hugging—mostly William—and crying—mostly William _and_ Joyce—on the front porch. It was the first time in years that Max had actually met Chloe’s parents. Chloe wished they could have reunited under better circumstances. But that went for basically everything that had happened throughout the week, so Chloe didn’t stress over it. At least everything was semi-okay in Seattle.

Chloe had a lot of new experiences that day. It was the first time William didn’t ask about her grades, the first time Joyce drank _two_ glasses of wine, the first time Chloe felt super awkward over dinner. And the first time Chloe didn’t get super embarrassed and try to break out of a William bear hug. Chloe needed all the hugs forever.

Chloe was just happy that she got to sit down and have a nice home-cooked meal with her family. After that insane week, the whole thing felt totally surreal. Joyce and William probably felt it too, but neither of them had any idea. Chloe’s parents got to live in their own bubble, unaware of all the weird shit that had happened to their precious daughter. But that was okay. They were better off not knowing the full story, at least for now. Maybe some day, when Chloe finished putting it together in her head.

“What about Blackwell?” William kept asking.

After weeks of stressing about her scholarship, Chloe thought it was time to speak her mind. After the sixth or seventh time her dad asked, Chloe finally answered his question.

“Screw Blackwell,” she said.

William stared at her, blinking like she’d just said something insane.

Chloe swallowed a mouthful of food, refusing to make eye contact. She was starting to realize that she never wanted to go to Blackwell. Not really. Her dad—always supportive, always pushing her to be her best—said it would be good for her, even if he really didn’t want to let her go back to Arcadia Bay by herself. But in reality, Chloe had just wanted to see Max again. Maybe she’d been super oblivious at the time, but it totally made sense. Chloe made a stupid decision because she wanted to reunite with her best friend. And then she rolled back into town and immediately went into turtle mode. _Such a coward, Price._

“Language,” said Joyce.

But she said it mildly, like she couldn’t really be pissed at her daughter. It was going to be a wild week of Joyce and William walking on eggshells, trying not to upset their kid so soon after such a traumatic event. But eventually things would even out. Chloe would set the kitchen on fire with one of her experiments or burn a hole through her desk and the lectures would start up again.

When the Prices finally let them go, Chloe and Max retired to Chloe’s bedroom. They both needed sleep, even if William and Joyce had two million questions for them.

Chloe collapsed onto her bed. _Fuck._ Hours of driving, drinking crappy coffee, and choking down cheap food from gas stations. Not exactly the badass road trip experience Chloe had been asking for. And tomorrow was going to be an absolute nightmare. Her parents probably wanted to know everything. But Chloe couldn’t tell them the _everything_ because the _everything_ was batshit insane.

Joyce and William hadn’t even asked about the dog. How was Chloe supposed to even approach that? _“_ _Oh, Pompidou? He used to belong to a drug dealer, but I’m pretty sure that drug dealer is super dead now, so…”._ Yeah, _that_ should go over well. _Ugh._

She sat up on her bed. At least her parents had been kind of understanding? They put out some scraps for Pompidou, let Max and Chloe go up to Chloe’s bedroom without peppering them with questions. It was a good start. But what was Chloe supposed to say? That a huge storm wiped out half of the town and it was maybe kind of her fault for using her time powers, even though she had zero clue that was going to happen?

Max was sitting cross-legged on the floor.

“So, about–,” she started.

Chloe braced herself. _Oh. Right._ They had to talk about that stuff. The storm, Chloe’s powers, the Prescotts. Now that things had settled down, they finally had a chance to lay out this impossible week and really dig into it. Chloe was _not_ looking forward to that six-hour conversation. But she also wouldn’t be able to sleep until they addressed it. If Chloe was going to feel like she’d lost her mind, she at least wanted to feel like Max was right there with her.

“ _—_ _us,”_ Max finished.

Chloe stared. That wasn’t what she’d been gearing up for. She kept forgetting there even was a _“them”._ Like an actual “them”, not just a strange idea in Chloe’s head or an alternate reality. It all seemed so natural to her, but now she realized it wasn’t. Tons of people stayed friends for their entire lives without falling in _love_ with each other. Chloe wasn’t even sure they _were_ in love. After the week’s insanity, how could she be sure of anything?

Max stood up and walked over to the bed. She plopped down on the bed, smoothing the blanket under her.

“So are we gonna, you know, tell your parents?” Max said.

Chloe chewed her lip. She was pretty sure her parents could handle her being gay— _pretty sure—_ but her and Max? That was going to take an adjustment period. Fuck, they _all_ needed an adjustment period.

“Yeah,” said Chloe. “I’m sure they’ll be—they’ll be cool.”

Max looked away.

“You promise?” she said.

Chloe crawled across the bed and hugged Max from behind, squeezing her and holding her close.

“I solemnly swear that my awesome-as-fuck parents won’t lose their minds if they find out their precious Chloe is dating her best friend,” Chloe said. “Trust me, Mad Max. They’ll be too busy losing their minds over everything else. Win-win for us, right?”

Chloe hesitated. She wanted to ask Max if she would come to bed with her. Nothing sexual, at least not until Chloe could feel out the situation a little more. If something happened, it happened. But Chloe wasn’t planning on it and she honestly just wanted some good old-fashioned cuddling. They had to make up for lost time somehow.

But Max made the decision for her. It was like she read Chloe’s mind. Or more likely, they were both thinking the exact same thing.

Chloe had read somewhere that there was nothing more bonding than trauma. When two people went through a super shitty experience together, they usually ended up sticking together. Well, _screw that._ Chloe and Max didn’t need trauma to stay together. They were already bonded for life before any of this even happened. The storm just helped seal the deal.

“Let’s go to bed,” said Max.

They crawled into Chloe’s bed together, snuggling under the covers. Chloe wasn’t sure if she was supposed to be the big spoon or not. She’d never cuddled with someone in bed before.

Chloe was about to ask, but Max was already wrapping her arms around her. Holding her tight, like she thought Chloe might float away or dissolve. Making Chloe feel safe for the first time that week.

She kept saying that every decision she’d made had been leading up to a specific moment in time. But Chloe had been wrong about all of those. _This_ was the moment all of that had been leading up to.

They held each other like that until they fell asleep, Max holding Chloe and Chloe’s head snuggled into Max’s chest. Chloe didn’t need her rewind to enjoy the moment.

That song—“High Above Chicago”–was still stuck in her head. It seemed fitting.

* * *

Chloe woke up before her parents and Max. It wasn’t something she planned. It just happened. Chloe had to get used to things just _happening._

Chloe untangled herself from Max’s arms. She wanted to stay in bed all day—she’d definitely earned that right—but Chloe’s stomach was growling. She needed to get something inside of her belly. And maybe after she was finished eating, she could crawl back into bed and spend the rest of the day cuddling with Max.

She went into the kitchen and started making breakfast. Chloe would have just grabbed a bowl of cereal, but she wanted some eggs and bacon. Plus after all the crap Max had been through, Max deserved a home-cooked breakfast courtesy of her kick-ass girlfriend. And after all the worrying Chloe’s parents had done, they both deserved to sleep in.

Chloe cracked some eggs into the frying pan. Cooking was never really her thing. She used to make pancakes with her dad, but that had been a long time ago. It felt like decades since Chloe had been in front of the stove.

She added some bacon to the frying pan. _Holy shit._ Chloe had totally missed the smell of bacon. The last time she’d had bacon was in Max’s house about two days ago. And Chloe hadn’t really tasted all the bacon-y goodness.

Chloe frowned, poking the bacon with a spatula. _Fuck._ Could she not think about all of that messed up crap for _one second?_ It was like that was all she had in her head, like what happened in Arcadia Bay was the only real part of her. Chloe just wanted to move on. She wanted to forget and pretend she never had time powers. Why couldn’t she let it go?

She sighed. Because that wasn’t the kind of crap Chloe could just let go of. She’d traveled through multiple alternate realities, watched her best friend die, watched Arcadia Bay get destroyed. And she was still grappling with how much of that was her fault and how much of it was just fate or destiny or whatever. And even if it _was_ fate or destiny, did that mean Chloe didn’t get to blame herself anymore? Did that mean everyone—including Jeffershit—was off the hook? Or was this whole thing random, a culmination of bad and gross decisions made by various people with their own screwed up agendas? Was it even worth thinking about when Chloe had zero answers?

She shook her head, clearing up all the junk bouncing around. _No._ It wasn’t worth thinking about. But Chloe was still doing it. _Crap._ This was never going to end. Chloe was never going to be totally free from all the crazy stuff that went down in Arcadia. It was like she was trapped there, watching the storm wreck the town in real time. A part of her was going to live inside of that lighthouse with Nathan and Max for the rest of her life.

Chloe flipped the eggs and bacon onto a plate. A feast fit for a Chloe.

Chloe had never made an omelet before in her entire life, but it was about time she tried. Chloe’s mom made the best omelets in the whole entire universe. Chloe had to have inherited some of that, right? Her parents were both absolute gods in the kitchen. Chloe hoped a bit of that had rubbed off on her.

She poured the mixture into the pan. It smelled totally amazing. The herbs, the cheese. It was like something out of a story. Maybe Chloe _was_ cut out for this domestic stuff. If she could build this wonderful creation from scratch, she might have a bright future ahead of her as a cook at Seattle’s version of the Two Whales.

Chloe nudged the omelet with her spatula. Chloe needed to get used to not being a whole person. She’d left so many parts of herself in Arcadia Bay. And Chloe had spent the last week scraping bits of herself off the metaphorical pavement.

Was Chloe ever going to go back, find those parts of herself and put herself back together? Maybe some day, when she was desperate and Arcadia Bay was the only thing she had left.

Chloe didn’t hear Max come into the kitchen. But she felt Max hug her from behind.

“Morning,” said Max.

Chloe flipped over the omelet, enjoying how Max’s arms felt around her waist. This was such a portrait of domestic bliss, like something out of a magazine. It was surreal to think about the events that led them to this point in time. Chloe wasn’t sure she was ready to start building normalcy out of the broken pieces of their lives. Not yet. Chloe had some stuff she needed to work through before she could even think about that shit.

“I made breakfast,” said Chloe.

Chloe tossed the omelet onto a plate. She took both plates over to the table and put them down at opposite ends.

Max sat down at the kitchen table. She wanted to make a joke about how she didn’t even know Chloe could cook. But she just didn’t have the energy for it. Max had slept through the whole night. No nightmares. But she still felt tired. And also kind of guilty about having her first real night’s sleep after all of that messed up crap happened.

Max prodded at the omelet with her fork. Chloe thought the omelet looked pretty good when she first started cooking it, but now it looked way less appetizing. And the smell didn’t exactly inspire confidence. Apparently Joyce and William were hogging all the good cook genes for themselves. At least the bacon and eggs Chloe had made for herself came out semi-decent.

“ _Don’t,”_ said Chloe.

Max put her fork down, an innocent smile on her face.

“What?” she said.

Chloe pointed her fork at Max, swallowing a mouthful of slightly too-crispy bacon.

“ _Don’t,”_ Chloe repeated.

Max speared a piece of omelet on her fork and raised it, a huge grin on her face.

“What?” said Max. “Just enjoying my awesome girlfriend’s delicious grub.”

Chloe stared at her plate, blushing and rolling her eyes.

“You’re such a dick, Mad Max,” said Chloe.

Max reluctantly gave in to her hunger, stuffing a forkful of omelet into her mouth and chewing. It actually wasn’t terrible. It was more edible than it looked. Just needed more salt and maybe some of William’s kitchen magic.

Max reached across the table and rubbed Chloe’s hand. She had to savor these moments. Things were going to be so hectic in the coming weeks. Max and Chloe might never have the chance to just sit down and eat together like this for a long time.

It was weird. Chloe and Max felt like they’d both aged twenty years in the past week. Chloe always thought her first real relationship would be full of drama. And it _was,_ at least at the beginning. Now that things had settled down, Chloe and Max felt like they were an old married couple. They just wanted to sleep, hold each other, eat together, and forget about the past. They had a future to make. _Together._

“You didn’t have to make breakfast, you dork,” said Max.

Chloe smiled.

“Are you kidding?” said Chloe. “After all the crazy shit I put you through? You totally deserve my terrible cooking.”

Max playfully slapped Chloe’s hand.

“It’s not _terrible,”_ said Max. “It’s very _Chloe.”_

Chloe rolled her eyes again.

“I am _so_ going to hit you,” said Chloe.

She swallowed another mouthful of bacon and eggs. Honestly, the food wasn’t horrendously awful. Or maybe Chloe was getting high off of all this calm domestic bliss. Chloe could get used to this. Being a superhero was so damn exhausting.

“So what are you gonna do about school?” said Max.

Chloe shrugged. Did she have to think about it _now?_ School sounded so mundane and stupid. Especially now that her scholarship was officially dead, along with any chance of her going back to Blackwell.

“I don’t know,” said Chloe. “You?”

Max reclined slightly, draping her arm over the back of her seat. She tilted her head up and smiled at the ceiling for a second before leaning forward and refocusing on Chloe.

“I think I still wanna be a photographer,” said Max. “But, like, for real this time. No creepy assholes. No Blackwell.”

She grinned.

“And of course with my awesome best friend by my side,” said Max.

Chloe looked at her plate, trying to hide the enormous smile on her face. Well, now her and Max were even: they’d both lost so much, but they were still standing. They both survived the storms that swept through their lives. But only because they had each other. Chloe could stand on her own. She’d proved that to herself. But it felt good to have someone who was always in her corner.

“You’re such a fucking nerd, Max,” said Chloe.

Max pointed her fork at Chloe and winked.

“Love you too, girlfriend,” she said.

And then she spent the next few minutes enjoying how flustered her badass scientist girlfriend got when Max said the word “girlfriend”.

After all they had been through, Chloe was still an adorable dork. And Max was never going to stop teasing her. As Chloe’s faithful companion, it was Max’s sworn duty.

* * *

**Epilogue**

David Madsen was packing a camper van full of supplies. He glanced over his shoulder at Vanessa. She had a sad smile on her face as she watched him load up the van. David sighed, finished shoving the last suitcase into the back, and hopped into the driver’s side. This wasn’t an ending. This was a beginning. David needed to figure some things out on his own.

Mark Jefferson was escorted into the courtroom by a pair of police officers. He wasn’t smiling anymore. He looked disheveled, like he’d been sleeping in dirt for the past few months. His glasses were missing and his hair was a mess. Jefferson glanced into the crowd and made eye contact with Ashley Holt. She looked away, her eyes filled with pain and disgust.

Nathan was lying on a cot, his arms folded over his stomach as he stared at the ceiling. He was wearing a white shirt and pants combo. A sleep machine was on in the background. It was playing whale noises. Nathan had a slight smile on his face. Everything was fine.

A broken sign—once proclaiming _Future Home of Pan Estates!–_ was lying in a pile of rubble. Someone had spray-painted _The Prescotts Suck_ over the original message in red marker.

Chloe was standing in front of a conspiracy board. The board was covered in post-it notes and random scraps of paper connected with red thread. A photo of Rachel Amber—one of Max’s polaroids—was tacked up in the center. Chloe was rearranging the string, connecting and reconnecting. There were open science textbooks all over her bed and the trash can was filled with crumpled pieces of paper. Max was sitting at Chloe’s desk with her camera. There were dozens of polaroids— _new_ polaroids, most of them featuring Chloe—all over the desk. While Chloe messed around with the conspiracy board, Max twisted around in her seat with the camera and snapped another photo of Chloe.

A memorial for Rachel Amber had been placed near the lighthouse. There was a large photo of her surrounded by candles. Someone had placed a plastic bird and a plastic replica of the Tobanga statue in front of the memorial along with the flowers. Max had left two of her polaroids. A butterfly—its wings a mesmerizing shade of blue—fluttered over to the memorial. It paused for a few seconds, perching on Rachel’s photo. And then it flew away, disappearing into the bright sky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted the ending to be a little more fleshed out than what we got from the original game (as opposed to a single scene of Max and Chloe driving off with zero resolution until the sequel). And I also wanted something more cheerful and definitive than what the original ending gave us. But I also wanted to keep everything as open-ended and ambiguous as the original game did. 
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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